The Life And Times of Sirius Black
by whoneedsusernames
Summary: "To whom it may concern: this is an account of my life- my memoirs, if you like". the life and loves of the pureblood 'Black' sheep; rebellion, betrayal, and the destructive love story that ruined it all. opposites attract, but they weren't opposites R
1. Chapter 1

I am writing this in my brother's room, at his old desk (which is definitely of better quality than my own) in his old room.

I tried to begin it in mine, but the walls seemed to close in on me, and all I could see was _her _face as she smirked at the posters which wallpapered my room. I can still see that smirk, clear as day. The most annoyingly lovely expression in the world.

She stopped at one, I remember, of a blonde, busty muggle straddling a motorbike, and delicately pressed one finger against the girl's face, as though testing the quality of the paper.

_"Tasteful,"_ she'd said, one eyebrow raised, lips curved into an expression of elegant disdain, _"I do so love what you've done with the place."_

Reg's room is so much less crowded. The memories are sparse in here, and oddly, considering that the task at hand is to _remember_, this seems to make concentrating easier. I suppose it will be hard enough to dreg up my past without thoughts of _her_ distracting me.

It is currently about two in the morning, and the little bit of sky I can see through Reg's window is a sort of murky grey-blue. Almost black, actually, which seems rather appropriate. I'm not sure of the date, but I do have an idea that it's a Wednesday. It is quite possible that I am wrong- the days all seem to blur here.

But all that is unimportant.

You should know, mysterious somebody, that I am writing this for you. Thoughts of _you_ dragged me here at this indiscriminate hour to pen an explanation for my absence in your life.

It's Harry's fault, actually.

I suppose it is childish of me to foist the blame onto my 15year old godson, but I never claimed to be anything other than childish. Being childish was natural when I was a child, sort of charming when I was young and handsome, and now as I approach middle age, has become a habit. And so I shamelessly point the finger at Harry. When you're thinking back on your happy ignorance and wishing you had never found out, it is on him that you should vent your no doubt considerable anger. I'll explain why later, for now just take my word for it- scream, shout, slap him across the face.

You have my permission.

And, with your family history, I have no doubt that your tantrums will be of epic proportions. After all, with true dramatics for parents and the magic equivalents of the antichrist for grandparents, vicious overreactions are pretty much your legacy.

But enough of these pleasantries. We're not at a tea party or a ministry function. This isn't a pleasant conversation. This, mysterious somebody, is an account of my Hogwarts years.

Or, more accurately, an account of my life.

Before and after? Well, I walked around and breathed and spoke, but I wasn't _alive_. Not in the sense that I'd define the word.

Before the events of this manuscript I don't think I was fully awake; after I was simply a shell of what once had been.

The rest of my existence has been rather black and white, but in between, that brief, vivid flash of colour, that was me. That was my life, and therefore _that_ is the subject of this tale.

I'm not sure that this is even a good idea.

Would it be simpler to write an impersonal account of my life from day one? Would you prefer that? But I think you'll like this. After all, you're like _her_, and this is what she would have told me to do.

_"You think she cares about your third birthday? About the time you had the chickenpox? Do you really believe she'd be interested in an account of the months you've spent cooped up in your ancestral home, wallowing? Show her __you__, Sirius, help her understand."_

I think that was what she would have said. And I imagine, being her, she would have said it in a rather patronizing and sardonic tone.

I had promised myself that I would not allow the memories to swamp me- that I would not reminisce. Reminiscing, _she_ always maintained, is for old people. She always said that if you have time to reminisce, you are not living.

Maybe she was right.

But I am not living, not really, and I think I will _have_ to swamp myself in memories to do this; maybe that is the only way I will get it done.

And it has to be done, mysterious somebody, it simply has to. Because you deserve it. Whether you burn it or treasure it will be up to you, but either way, you need to see this.

You need to read these words, to understand them.

You're so young, and no doubt so foolish. You have to know more than what you do now, to understand the past and how it shaped everything that is happening in our world today. You need to understand how the people that surround you became who they are. And more than all of that, you need to understand _me_.

After all, a daughter deserves to know her father, doesn't she?

…

Well, this is the part which people would call 'the beginning'. I'm resisting the urge to pen 'once upon a time' in huge, swirly cursive across the top of the parchment.

It is difficult, but I will prevail. After all, as foreign as it is to me to _want_ to be taken seriously, this time I must.

I suppose that this is where I tell you about my family, my early years. If I wanted to, that is.

I don't, of course.

Why should we go there, mysterious somebody, when they have brought the both of us nothing but pain? And on top of that, why revisit my family when they seemed for my entire childhood to be so torturously dull? I speak truthfully; nobody would ever have believed that evil could be boring, unless they lived with my parents.

Those years of my life seem to meld into one massive grey blur. And nobody likes grey.

So I will begin with bright crimson. That is, in a compartment on a crimson train. It was on this train that my adorable 11year old self sat, speeding over a bridge towards a place I had only ever dreamt about, sitting opposite a boy destined to play a key role not only in my life, but in history itself. At the time we begin this, however, he did not look particularly impressive. In fact, with his messy hair, round glasses and gaping mouth, he reminded me of a particularly startled (and inexplicably hairy) goldfish.

"What?"

I observed somewhat resignedly that the boy looked genuinely at a loss. Obviously such declarations were completely foreign to him.

I repeated myself- slowly, "I said that Hogwarts is great because gives us a way to get away from our families."

The boy shook his head, his expression slightly bemused "well, I guess," he crinkled his nose thoughtfully, pushing his glasses askew, "but, well, I mean…." I watched him, arms folded, smirk in place. His floundering for a reply made him look small in my eyes- I always preferred people to be decisive. But even as this thought crossed my mind, he met my gaze, and with a crooked grin said, "well, you must have a terrible family."

I nodded in agreement, returning his smile. For the moment, we were completely alone in the cabin, without anyone else to impose themselves on our newfound camaraderie.

We'd had company earlier- a pretty girl and a boy who distinctly looked like he could use a shower- but my new friend and I had teased them til they left. This was, in fact, the rather inauspicious beginning of our friendship.

(Do try not to judge me, mysterious somebody. You must understand- this boy _really_ needed a shampoo)

There were some other boys in the compartment, but they had exuded neediness and nerves to the point that I was irrationally repulsed by them. The boy sitting opposite me now had none of that, and as we laughed over the sheer horribleness of my family, I felt the beginnings of affection for him.

He had told me his name- James Potter, blood traitor- and with a twinkle in his eyes asked if my illustrious ancestors wouldn't be rolling over in their graves with horror at our friendship. I solemnly informed him that my illustrious ancestors were far too dignified to roll anywhere. "More likely," I told him, "they're scowling in their coffins."

He leaned forwards with a grin and said, "tell me more."

And so, with a complete lack of respect for my family name, I regaled my new friend with tales of their snobbish ways and odd hang-ups until we were both rolling on the floor with laughter. I could just _imagine_ my mother standing over us, watching our behaviour with her famous sneer, and this image spurred me on, as it always did, to take my mischief further. Soon, I was entertaining James with impressions of my mother, my horrid aunts, and even- tentatively- my father.

"But it doesn't matter all that much now," I told him, as he clutched his sides over my monologue as Aunt Lucretia, "I'm finally getting away. I don't need them! I won't even have to _think_ about them until holidays. It's great!"

This realization, as obvious as it should have been from the time I boarded the train, seemed to lift a weight from my shoulders. I felt so free suddenly, and so completely light that I could fly.

James grinned at me from across the compartment, his eyes warm with understanding. "I can imagine." He said, "you must feel weightless."

In another situation, _any_ other situation in fact, his words would have inspired a cruel round of mockery by yours truly because no statement could be more deserving of the label 'useless wank'. But right then and there, it fitted perfectly.

From that moment on, I associated James Potter with freedom.

But even as that little bond was forged- something which I already sensed would lead to a very good friendship- James continued.

"I reckon," he said slowly, "something horrible is always made a bit better when you laugh at it, don't you? That's why I like you, Black. Looks like you live with a bunch of cruel harpies, but _Merlin_ do you make it into something hilarious."

I could have taken offence. I could have dismissed his attempt at empathy with a sneer. But I didn't. Mostly, I think, because 11years is too long to go without a friend, and he was offering even more than that.

His little speech told me something about the two of us. We would be more than friends- we would be brothers.

Humour me while I jump on ahead.

_Where do you want to be placed?_

I scoffed tearing my gaze away from the stormy enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall to shoot a condescending look up at the wide brim of the sorting hat, "you tell me, mate," I suggested, "aren't you supposed to read my thoughts? Gaze into my soul or something?" I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, "Isn't that what you were pretty much created to do?"

_I want you to say it out loud. _The hat replied, apparently unfazed by my rudeness. I _hated_ it when I couldn't faze people.

Besides which, its request? Stupid. What would the point of that be? The sorting hat had seemed so much more interesting in my mind. I cast a quick gaze over to the table furthest from the entrance, where my cousin sat, watching my eagerly. Eyeing the silver and green banners in disgust, I sighed- time to get this farce over with.

"Fine. I guess you know best- after all, you're the hat." I sighed again, trying to rein in my sarcasm. "Anywhere but Slytherin."

_Why?_

I considered, then grinned, "because my mother would be proud if I were in Slytherin."

The hat chuckled, and my affection for it grew slightly.

_With that malicious streak, you would fit Slytherin perfectly, _It told

me and I shrugged.

_Well then. Defiance implies stupidity. Or bravery, How about we try….._

_GRYFFINDOR!_

A cheer went up and I pushed the hat from my head, carefully arranging my features into a blank expression. After all, it just wouldn't do to wear my triumph on my face. But inwardly, I was laughing, already composing a letter to my mother.

'…_and all the professors tell me they're sure I'll do well. I've made friends (all pureblood) and we're all settling in well._

_Enjoying everything immensely._

_Regards,_

_Sirius._

_PS: was sorted into Gryffindor…."_

It would be fabulous.

My walk to the Gryffindor table was probably only a few seconds long, but it felt like a lifetime. All eyes were on me. That roar of approval? I'd inspired it. I'd been raised with a sense of superiority over others, but I suppose it wasn't til that moment that I realized something- I might not like my family, I might rebel tirelessly against them, but their certainty in their place above all others was a trait I seemed to have inherited. I didn't _like_ the attention- I felt entitled to it. The realization that the dislike I'd born for my parents since birth hadn't prevented them from influencing my personality cowed me a little. I took my seat with an uncharacteristic lack of flair.

But then, somebody in red and gold clapped me on the back, and I realized that it didn't matter that I felt worthy of attention. I may be a little like my parents, but that wasn't what they'd see when they heard about my sorting. No, they'd be gaping like fish over the fact that their precious heir was in _Gryffindor_.

I felt a thrill of fear at my defiance, but more than that, a wave of triumph. Mother's stern assurance that I would be in Slytherin had no power over me- I controlled my own actions, tradition be damned!

Still standing in the line, James gave me thumbs up and another lopsided grin. Obviously his mind was working in a similar way to mine. I sketched a mocking bow and waggled my eyebrows at him. He applauded with a laugh, ever the clown. It was a pity he'd be so long getting sorted, we were only in the Cs.

"Hey, congratulations." I looked over my shoulder.

An older boy with flaming red hair grinned at me from the other side of the table. I cast my eyes over him in an automatic evaluation. His friendly, open grin and lack of reserve told me straight away that he was no proud pureblood. That made his enthusiasm somewhat strange, "yeah, thanks." I said, confused.

"Welcome to Gryffindor," the boy continued, stretching out a freckled hand, "I'm Arthur. Arthur Weasley. And you are…I didn't catch your name, sorry," he shot me yet another grin, "I know it started with a B or a C…."

"Black" I filled in, "Sirius Black."

Arthur Weasley whistled through his teeth, "wow." He said, bewildered, "a Black. In Gryffindor." He blinked a few times, evidently in shock, "wild."

"Yeah, pretty." I agreed nonchalantly. From his reaction to my name it was fairly clear that if he wasn't pureblood, he was no muggleborn either. My best guess, and I could practically feel my mother's influence on my thought patterns, was that he was from an old, but less prudish wizarding family. I didn't know of the Weasleys, but I could tell that he knew of the Blacks, and my presence in his house unnerved him.

I was actually surprised that he hadn't noticed when I was sorted; after all, there were quite a few people who had.

One in particular.

I turned my eyes back to the Slytherin table. Bella was looking straight at me, her eyes an eerie mimic of my own.

When the hat had bellowed 'Gryffindor' for me, there had been two battling emotions in the Great Hall. Something akin to triumph from the red and gold table I had been walking towards- an 'in your face' to their rivals. And from the silver and green table on the far side of the hall? Furious disbelief.

No doubt Bella had told them all that I would be in Slytherin- her smart, cutting, brat of a cousin.

She was ridiculously proud of me like that. But I had embarrassed her by being sorted into Gryffindor of all places. I had proved her wrong. And she could not understand _how_ it had happened. She just couldn't comprehend it.

Bella didn't accept what she didn't understand- she never had, and her rejection of the fact of my sorting was plain to see in her eyes. By her side, one of the Malfoys gave her a sympathetic glance, which morphed into a glare full of rage as his gaze shifted to me.

_You could have been great_ his glare said _but you chose the wrong side. I proclaim you 'enemy'._

I didn't give a shit. I met his glare with a condescending smile. His eyes flashed with anger and shock, but he held my gaze. In the last instant, our exchange seemed to have turned into a staring competition, and neither of us wanted to be the first to break it. My smile turned vicious, and I inclined my head without looking away. Aside from my confidence, my parents had bequeathed me with an inheritance which all members of our family seemed doomed to posses- what we called the 'Black stare'. I turned it on Malfoy now.

He could not intimidate me, I tried to communicate with my trademark defiance. _Nobody_ could.

I was startled from my reverie by a roar of pride from the red head across from me. His joy was mimicked by the entire table. I joined in, in my own way, clapping politely as I searched for the source of the uproar.

Someone else had joined our ranks.

The pretty girl from the train, her long red hair swinging behind her, approached our table with her head held high.

Back in the waiting line, her oily haired boyfriend looked sick. She smiled at him and absentmindedly sat down next to me.

I scooted over to give her more room accompanying my 'gallantry' with a dashing smile. I think it was that expression which made her recognize me- how could anyone forget my arrogance?

And I? I remembered her pretty hair and eyes, and more than that, her apparent immunity to my charm. Even as I watched, she sniffed and scooted away from me.

I grinned; people who dislike me interest me beyond anything else. This may sound conceited to you- it probably is- but there were few people around who actually didn't like me, and someone who found me repulsive was novel, a challenge.

"Yeah, that was my reaction, too" I said knowingly.

The girl stiffened, interest obviously piqued. "What?" she asked, trying to disguise her confusion as resentment.

"When I saw my reflection in the mirror this morning," I clarified with a lazy grin, "I almost sneezed as well. Weird, huh? Maybe I'm allergic to myself."

"I'm certainly allergic to you," she said primly, and I laughed.

"Yeah, I know. You better not look me in the eye now, it might give you some sort of reaction. Better not introduce yourself, either. Too risky."

The girl smiled, her face angling just slightly more toward me. You should know, mysterious somebody, that I am in my element when it comes to charming girls.

"I wasn't going to," she said, sniffing again.

"Quick," I gasped, shielding my face with my hands, "turn away before you come out in hives!"

She laughed despite herself and stretched out a hand, "Lilly Evans."

"Sirius Black."

"Serious?" Lilly turned to face me now, frowning slightly on top of her smile, "you don't look serious."

I shrugged, "well, you don't look like a lily. You're far too big, and the wrong colour. It's parents, they're pretty stupid."

Lilly laughed, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She had to be the sweetest person in existence. Despite how horrible I'd been to her earlier, she was willing to try and be friends. But the thing about people who are nice, and willing to put the past behind them is that they assume you will do the same.

I've never been a nice person. And I never put the past behind me.

I glanced up at that moment, and saw the greasy boy from the train glaring at me intensely.

"Woah," I said and Lilly automatically followed the direction of my gaze, "could you tell your boyfriend not to curse me? I don't want to spend tonight in Mungo's with kumquats growing out of my nostrils."

At the word 'boyfriend', Lilly turned away, prim again, but I was relatively unconcerned. Now at least she knew I wasn't ever going to be best friends with the oily boy, even if she herself seemed so lovely. And after all, I had seven years in which to charm her again.

Another cheer.

Both Lilly and I stayed seated, smiling and clapping, both slightly unsure of the protocol for first years. I was at that point getting _very_ hungry, staring at the empty goblets and shiny clean plates and wishing hopelessly for a whole troop of sorting hats, one to each head so that the process was instantaneous.

"Sorry, can I sit here?" I looked over my shoulder.

The boy staring down at me had the most apologetic smile, but above it, he had eyes the colour of a shiny new galleon. I thought it was the coolest thing I'd ever seen. But his eyes couldn't hide the fact that he looked a little ill, with his school robes already dishevelled and his hair messed up in a way that didn't quite pass for 'cool'.

"uh, yeah, I guess," I decided with a frown, "as long as you don't throw up." He grinned, and suddenly, I liked him.

"What about if we compromise; I'll aim for the side if I feel the need?" he suggested. I laughed and scooted over for him, keeping my place next to Lilly.

There was an awkward silence while the boy waited for me to introduce myself. But, mysterious somebody, I was raised a Black, and however much I rebelled against it, it is in my (our) blood _never _to appear eager.

The boy seemed to sense this. With a wry grin he held out a hand, "Remus Lupin."

"Sirius Black." I supplied, shaking his hand.

We smiled and then by mutual agreement looked back to the sorting.

"Macmillian, Terese." Professor Mcgonnagal called out and I groaned.

We would be waiting here forever.

I considered Remus, " so, me and Lilly-flower here were just discussing the inappropriateness of names. Sure seems like you should be involved. Your parents very into wolves?"

Remus jumped half a foot, turning green at the same time and upending an empty goblet with a clatter. In response, the red headed guy from before turned around and frowned us into silence.

"What do you mean?" he asked, voice hoarse.

I was confused, "your name. Remus. Lupin. Remus as in Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome who were raised by a wolf. And Lupin. Lupine. Wolf like."

His fists were clenched and he was breathing rapidly, "yeah, right. My name, of course." He forced a laugh.

"Are you ok?" I asked, cautiously remembering my earlier concerns; I had not envisioned spending my first night of freedom covered in vomit.

Remus nodded, eyes darting from side to side in a golden blur of nerves, "yeah. I just- I had a bit of a bad experience with a wolf once. It uh, made me really nervous around them."

"Right." I wasn't fussed. I couldn't care less about his childhood experiences. What mattered was what he was like, which seemed to be nice enough. And even if I didn't feel the same instant connection with him that I had with James, his disheveled appearance suggested that he was no stuck-up little brat. I knew my mother wouldn't approve of someone so messy, and so I knew we would be friends.

Another roar from our table.

This time, Lilly stood up and cheered with the best of them, but Remus and I stayed seated; I out of lazy nonchalance and he out of nerves.

Pay attention here, mysterious somebody, because this next person is important.

The newest Gryffindor boy made a beeline for me and I watched him with halfhearted curiosity. He was the least likely Gryffindor you could imagine; a small, pasty, rotund thing, moving awkwardly along in a way that could only be described as scampering or scuffling. Why he would choose to come to me, probably the _least_ approachable first year in his house, was beyond me. Remus and Lily were both much friendlier than I, hell, even the older Arthur Weasley would have seemed a smarter choice for someone who wasn't a natural at making friends. He reached me and stopped, a look of pleading on his face.

"Hello," Remus said kindly, proving my earlier point.

The boy beamed at him gratefully, then turned expectantly back to me.

"Do I know you?" I asked, trying to temper my tone so I didn't sound like a bully.

"J-j-jam-James said I should sit with you!" he gushed.

I looked up- James was nodding. "Fine," I said amiably, "there's some room on the other side of Remus."

The boy nodded and scuffled obediently over to Remus' other side.

"Hey, I'm Remus." Remus said with a welcoming smile, a statement which was both polite and redundant.

"Pettigrew." The boy wheezed.

Even Remus looked confused, "your name is Pettigrew?" he asked.

I grinned, "join the club! We have here lily-flower, serious and wolf-man." Remus blanched under his smile, "all of us have inappropriate names."

Pettigrew looked aghast, "Peter!" he cried, "Peter!"

"What?"

"I'm Peter, Peter Pettigrew." He amended, literally panting as though he'd run a marathon.

"Ah." I said knowingly, "well, that's not half as interesting now, is it? You'll just have to sit off to the side with our charming, but boringly named….."

"Potter, James." I resisted the urge to sit up straighter as I watched the James mount the steps and place the hat on his head, instead maintaining my bored slouch. I berated myself for caring so much, but I really wanted James in my house. A lot. And so, even though to look at me, one would think butter wouldn't melt in my mouth, inside I was a nervous wreck.

I waited in suspense, watching the play of expressions across James' face as the hat deliberated. Reluctantly, I smiled; he was so very bad at concealing his emotions.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Another roar of approval.

"Good." I said, relieved. Remus gave me a sideways look full of appraisal. "I met him on the train," I explained.

Remus nodded, "yeah, it's just that I reckon that was the first time you actually said something today which you actually meant."

Remus, mysterious somebody, was always very perceptive.

James practically ran towards us, his head held high and a winning smile on his face.

"Taking a lap of honour?" I asked sarcastically. He laughed and sat down between Lily and I.

"James Potter," he said with a grin, and all the others murmured their names.

Except one.

"Sorry," James said, leaning in closer to Lilly, "didn't catch that."

"You weren't meant to," she snapped, turning even further away. James frowned, obviously he was new to being disliked as well.

"Don't worry," I told him, "she's just worried about her boyfriend, aren't you, Lilly-flower?"

"Go die." She snapped, and James shrugged and turned around.

"I'm starved," he said simply, "when is dinner?"

And here, mysterious somebody, I must jump ahead yet again, thankfully mere hours into the future, when my new friends and I had gorged ourselves on pasties and pudding and everything on offer in the way that only growing boys can without throwing up.

We skip now to a small and somewhat predictable scene. It takes place in one of the many halls at Hogwarts, into which I was suddenly pulled on my way to the common room.

"Bella, no! I told you, it's ok."

My cousin practically spat with anger, "ok?" she gave a hollow laugh, "the last thing this is is 'ok'! I mean, all the Blacks belong in Slytherin, everybody knows that! The hat must've made a mistake…."

"There was no mistake." I said wearily. The conversation had been going around in circles for almost an hour, but nothing I said made any impression on my cousin- it was as though she couldn't hear me.

Bella had always showed signs of selective deafness.

Never more so than at that moment, striding back and forth, her 12year old shoulders squared purposefully.

"Don't worry, we won't take this lying down! I'll call father, and he-"

"Bella!" I grabbed her by the shoulders, "seriously, it is fine! I don't mind being in Gryffindor, no, listen! I even have friends-"

She wrenched herself away from me, "friends?" she hissed, face a black mask of anger and disbelief, "friends? What are you saying Sirius, are you _listening_ to yourself?"

"No," I said, sarcasm dripping from my voice, "am I talking? Wow, must be a reflex action..."

"Be serious." Bella snapped. I laughed and her eyes flashed. When they did that, it was always a strange experience for me, like I was watching myself get angry in the mirror.

"Calm down, Bella," I said softly. "This is hardly the end of the world, after all. So I'm in Gryffindor. Along with hundreds of other students...why the fuss?"

"The fuss" Bella intoned in a voice which was obviously carefully even, "is that you, Sirius, are a Black. And Blacks do not belong in Gryffindor. They do not now and they never will. Remember that you, Sirius, have brought down a legacy."

She gave me a final solemn stare and strode off, her steps echoing in the empty hall. It was as dramatic an exit as one could possibly make when they're 12years old and wearing their hair in plaits.

I watched her go, and then sighed, turning around and wondering in which direction my common room was.

"Finished, then?" I spun on my heel to meet the gaze of a dark haired boy with skewed glassed.

"James," I said, trying to hide my relief. "Come to fetch me, have you?"

He laughed and began to walk away. He did not need to check if I would go with him; we both knew I would. Somewhere along the line, we had become a team.

But Bella's words lingered in the back of my mind, refusing to disperse.

Me. Sirius Black. Apple of my mother's eye.

Bringing down a legacy.

I quite liked the ring of that.


	2. Chapter 2

As you may be able to guess, mysterious somebody we became fast friends, the four of us.

Peter was admittedly always slightly on the outside, forever simpering in a way which I could not always tolerate.

Have you heard this before? Perhaps you have. Perhaps you know about the four of us, about how we were notorious troublemakers, myself and James especially.

But perhaps you have never heard the stories (I am prone to overestimating peoples interest in me) or perhaps you did not care enough to listen when you were told. I cannot expect you to have. After all, you could not have imagined it would mean anything to you at all.

Why would it?

So, once upon a time there were four young students at Hogwarts, four in however many billion, who were truly and utterly disdainful of rules.

There must have been trillions before and after just as shitty and idiotic as we were, and yet we believed ourselves to be unique. I shall allow myself some small vanity and presume that we _were_ special, if only a little. Perhaps someone has mentioned us to you and you _did_, for whatever reason, remember.

Perhaps because one of those trouble makers was James Potter, the father of famous Harry. Perhaps because one of them was Peter Pettigrew, the noble and heroic wizard who died fighting for Gryffindor values.

Perhaps even because one of them was Sirius Black, the maniac who killed them both.

I wince at the thought of you hearing about that, mysterious somebody. I imagine you shaking your head (you look much like her, in my mind) and saying. "The bastard. Killing his friends. He deserves the dementor's kiss and more besides."

I do not like to imagine this any more than I like to imagine _her _thinking the same thing, soon after it happened.

You see, I know now that she believed I killed them.

I never would have given it credence, that she would think such things of me. Or perhaps, if I am to be honest and I do so want to be, I hoped she would never hear of it, and so never be able to draw her own conclusions. But such hopes were foolish. How could not hear of such a thing? How could she ever think any different? I should have realized, and yet I was shattered when I discovered that she knew. Another part of me broke when I was told, by a contrite Lupin, that she really thought I _had_ killed James. Killed Lily. Killed Peter.

Now I think that if Peter stood before me, not even James could stop me from killing him.

Strange how one changes, is it not?

But I was speaking of Hogwarts, was I not? I was telling you about my friends. James, Remus and I were instantly comrades in everything. A war against adults, I think.

Remus was, regrettably, less dedicated to the cause than James and myself. Peter was nothing but a hanger on, rather like those women who followed the armies around on their campaigns, hoping to get lucky with a soldier.

Perhaps not exactly like that, though.

But James and myself? We terrorised Hogwarts.

Filch especially incurred our wrath; he had snapped at us on our second day when we left skid marks in the hall and we immediately decided that he _must_ perish. That one little lecture doomed him to seven years of ceaseless and increasingly creative pranks.

Peter was content to watch and squirm whenever he somehow managed to appear in the wrong.

He was never _truly_ in the wrong because he was not brave enough to actually commit to any naughty deeds. Such is life, I suppose. We show our true colours at a young age, and it is only as we get older that we truly understand just how telling past events were in demonstrating our current personalities.

But I digress, yet again. An old, sad habit, mysterious somebody, and one you shall have to get used to.

I have now checked the time and found it to be almost three in the morning. This means that I have very little time in which to actually write to you of the events in my life. For tonight, at least. Soon, a member from the order will arrive to check that I have not slit my wrists during the night.

Probably Snape, just my luck.

I had hoped to finish this tonight. As is, I cannot risk Snape getting hold of it. After all, he frequents Hogwarts, and were he to impart the knowledge of your parenthood to you before I had a chance to do so, it would be devastating to say the least.

Now that I think on it, I realise that Snape must have known of your existance for quite some time, at least as long as you have been attending school. You transferred, I am told, from another school?

I find that ironic, how history repeats itself,

But that need not be discussed. This little digression must end here, but not without yielding (surprisingly) some fruit. It gives us the topic for our next discussion: Snape.

I hated him.

Every single thing he did, action he performed, habit he displayed, I despised beyond what was reasonable. This loathing was, I now admit, unfair, and based almost entirely on the fact that he was exactly the kind of son my mother would have reveled in.

Intelligent, disdainful, obsessed (somewhat ironically) with blood purity.

He also had a distinctive smell of old cabbage about him which did little to endear him to me, but that may be beside the point...

"Oh God! It's hideous! Quick, call the professor, Peter's spell has gone horribly wrong!"

There was a shocked silence throughout the classroom. I waited, milking the moment, watching my prey like a hunter in the jungle. He stood stock still, eyes darting furiously around, searching for the object I had just described.

I sighed loudly, sensing the perfect moment to complete my joke, "my mistake," I said boredly, "it was only Severus."

The class sniggered.

Peter, who had been shielding his eyes behind his hands, petrified of the creature he had supposedly conjured, peeped between his fingers and braved a nervous giggle.

Snape fumed. "Dont call me Severus!" he hissed.

I drew my parchment back from the edge of my table with a gasp, "geez, _Severus_, you don't have to drown me in saliva to get your message across. Just tell me! I can be reasonable!" I rocked backwards in my chair, folding my arms across my chest and watching his reaction.

Snape's eyes flashed. His trashy pureblood self recognised the heirachy of the Blacks.

"You won't call me Severus?" he asked, eyes narrowed in suspicious, "if I ask you not to?"

I shook my head, "Of course not. Not if you don't like it." Snape allowed himself to look relieved. I saw my opportunity and pounced, "after all, Snotface suits you much better."

The class roared with laughter and James gave me thumbs up under the table.

Remus was not present. Madam Pomfrey informed us, when we'd asked, that he'd caught a fever in the night. It was a common enough occurrence that we didn't feel the need to pry. If Remus _had_ been present, this little scene would never have taken place. He absolutely hated it when we were cruel, and somehow his calming presence always seemed to rein us in a little.

Without him, we were right little terrors.

At that moment, Peter shrieked oddly, and I checked to see if he'd hurt himself. But the noise was simply an over-enthusiastic laugh and so I smiled and turned back to Snape, formulating my next cutting remark.

"You leave him alone!"

I rolled my eyes at James, who smiled back, but his eyes darted to the front of the classroom.

"Evans," he said, voice sounding slightly strangled, "what seems to be the problem?"

"Other than your massive ego?" Lily snapped, tossing her hair over her shoulder and fixing him with her fiercest glare. I winced, James was a sucker when she tossed her hair.

"What's bothering you, Lily?" James asked eagerly, "I'll try to fix it if I can. Tell me!"

She frowned, "stop teasing Severus!"

James opened his mouth to reply, but I jumped in.

"We weren't," I said. Lily raised an eyebrow in disbelief. I smiled charmingly at her, "he doesn't like to be called that, and Merlin knows we wouldn't want to make him uncomfortable! We were teasing Snotface."

"You are pathetic!" Lily hissed at me, and Snape simply stared up at her before glaring back down at me.

"Yeah," he said angrily, "leave me alone, _Backwash_!"

I was momentarily stunned, as was the rest of the class. When, in the history of Hogwarts, had somebody like Snape stood up to a little brat like me? It was like a rat turning around and biting a dog.

"You did not," I began, "just call me Backwash?" Snape looked triumphant and I felt completely at a loss. Momentarily. But then my famous Black disdain kicked in, "where the hell did you pull _Backwash_ from? Your arse? If so, spare me the details."

Snapes nostrils flared as the class grinned. My comment did not deserve an all out laugh, but it put me back in the playing field. And I was just getting started

"Geeze, Snotface! Flare those any more and you'll dye the classroom green! You've already spat on me, so hopefully ugliness isn't contagious." Now the class laughed, and even James stopped pretending to be cool and grinned at me, slapping me high five.

Lily, obviously sensing that the class could not be contained, looked anxiously toward the door, waiting for the teacher. But Slughorn was notorious for being late.

Had it been any other day, I think that I would have just gotten bored and backed off. My foul mood had manifested itself in this cruel display, but I wasn't sadistic. I would have stopped, either when I lost interest or when Slughorn arrived. But on this particular day, Slughorn was later than usual, and my mood was considerably worse. A howler from your mother will do that to you.

In any case, when Lily looked to the door, obviously hoping for SLughorn to resolve the situation I think that, mysterious somebody, something inside Snape snapped. He could handle our taunts, he could handle the class' sniggers. But he would _never_ allow Lily to think that he couldn't take care of himself. He leant forwards, eyes flashing, and grasped the edges of my desk so hard that his knuckles went white.

"You think you're _so_ cool, sitting with your Gryffindor friends, but that uniform can't change what you are."

Despite myself, I was intrigued, and the class hushed at the expression on my face.

"What," I asked, "is that supposed to mean?"

Snape grinned.

"You know the real reason you hate me? I do. It's your _blood_ coming through. Your _pure_blood. Because you will always be a Black, no matter which colours you wear or who you sit with in class. It's written across your face, its written in the way you talk. You are nothing but a pureblood snob, through and through. Just like Lucius, just like Salazar Slytherin and just like your father..."

He did not get to finish because my hands had closed around his neck by that point and cut off his blood circulation.

"You are NOTHING" I screamed, "but jealous! Well, here! Take my blood, you can _have_ my family. Take this, if you want." I wrenched my signet ring off my finger, thrusting it into his petrified face, showing him the crest embossed onto it. My mother had threatened to take it away anyway, I figured it might as well go to somebody with a mind like hers. After all, he'd pretty much spat her howler at me, word for word, despite not being anywhere near me when I got it.

I would have continued to strangle him, but James was by my side in a second, holding me back.

"Woah, Sirius, down boy" he said jokingly, trying to ease the tension, "you'll get into trouble if you kill him, and he's clearly not worth a detention."

I allowed myself to be pulled back into a chair.

Around me, the room was silent.

I had lost my cool.

Me, Sirius Black, the most aloof of them all, had madly attacked a student he always claimed to be beneath his notice.

It would take effort to live this down.

I straightened, pulling my tie into place and smoothing my hair.

"You made me tear my robe," I said, examining a minutely damaged sleeve, "that'll need stitching, and I sure as hell won't be doing that. I don't suppose you have any experience in those matters, _Snotface_, not that I want you near my robes. I'll have to have a bath as is."

There were a few nervous laughs, and I grinned at James.

"Maybe Mother was right and I _do_ have muggle blood- I can certainly fight like one." more laughs, but awkward ones.

I felt a hand on my arm and turned to meet a pair of cool green eyes. "Are you alright, Black?" I pulled away, not liking the tone in Evans voice. It seemed too much like pity.

"No. I hurt my shoulder. Want to kiss it better?" She recoiled in disgust and the class laughed more wholeheartedly.

I was back.

"Well, well, well. Having some fun in here, aren't we?" Slughorn's massive belly protruding through the doorway signaled his immanent entry into the classroom, "no doubt young Black is at the route of that." He shot me a huge grin, but his smile faded when he saw Snape still lying prone on the floor. "What are you doing there, young master Snape?" he asked, genuinely confused.

James opened his mouth to reply, but someone else got in first.

"He fell over, Professor." I turned in amazement to Lily Evans. She did not meet my eyes, "but I'm sure Black will help him up, won't you, Black?"

She'd saved me from a detention, but I would rather have the punishment than the sting that the excuse brought with it.

"That's not true!" I looked down. Snape was pulling himself shakily to his feet. He raised a spindly finger and pointed at me, "Black," he announced, "tried to kill me. Ask anyone. Its true."

Slughorn looked shocked.

"It is," I turned. A Slytherin whose name escaped me was nodding vigorously, "Snape's telling the truth."

There was a murmur of agreement from the Slytherin side.

The Gryffindors rallied, "it isn't." James began, always at the forefront of any fight involving me, "Evans was telling the truth." I wanted to throw up as I heard the assent from my house.

Snape, I realised, was right. I was a Black through and through.

A charming, charismatic, brutal, cruel Black.

I could taste bile in my mouth.

"Snape is telling the truth." someone said quietly and everyone paused.

I realised I had said it.

"I jumped on him, tried to throttle him. Would have too, if Potter hadn't stopped me. Bit of a shame he intervened, really." This last was an afterthought.

The Gryffindors smiled, even through their shock, but Slughorn looked ready to deflate. He gaped for a while, then finally managed to say, "Black, engaging in Muggle Combat is a seriously inappropriate action. Why would you stoop to that level?"

I shrugged, "it was the only way I could reach Snape."

The class roared with laughter, but Slughorn thumped a hand on the table, "I am surprised at you, master Black." he bellowed, multiple chins quivering with rage, "three weeks detention, and fifty points from Gryffindor." There was an awkward silence. "Muggle combat! I never!" Slughorn muttered.

He had yet to say one word in remonstration of my actual attack on Snape. It seemed that he took issue with my methods, rather than my actions. I returned to my seat in silence, managing to look nonchalant through sheer force of will, "alright, professor," I said calmly, "next time I'll hex him instead."

Slughorn apparently decided to ignore that.

"That was bull!" someone muttered.

"So unfair," someone hissed.

Lily Evans refused to meet Snape's eyes. If she had looked his way she would have seen the absolute devastation he felt at her betrayal written on his face.

"Way to snivel to the professor, _Snotface_" James growled.

I shook my head, "who is Snotface?" I asked quietly, and James raised an eyebrow in surprise. I felt the eyes of the class on me.

"Well, he is-" Peter began in confusion, but I silenced him with a look, "oh," I said in mock surprise, "you mean _Snivellus"_

_..._

I do apologise, mysterious somebody, but I find myself distracted.

Though my Black soul feels whiter already at having written what I have so far, I cant help but feel as though I am doing something...wrong.

Do you want to know the real reason I am writing this? I don't suppose you do, do you? You probably loathe me already. Perhaps you have already thrown this into the fire. It probably belongs there.

I will write more anyway, on the off chance that you do wish to know me.

And I will explain in further detail.

I am writing this because not three weeks ago, your name was mentioned to me. Just in passing. Literally, a split second in which, by chance, I heard a single word in a random sentence and my heart stopped. And then I breathed again, mysterious somebody. I breathed.

Harry, in case you don't remember, is the culprit.

He doesn't know he's the culprit, either. If you ever discuss it, I'm sure that he'll be most surprised.

In any case, I heard that one word, and I breathed, and then I stopped breathing, because I felt an overwhelming despair which I had, until that moment, buried deep within me, lest it pull me under.

It is the feeling of despair that arrives each time I think of _her_.

So, I breathed again. Stopped breathing. And asked Harry to repeat what he'd said.

He did, nonplussed, and then not only did I cease to breathe, but my heart stopped beating.

And I continued in this suspended state of animation until a few hours ago; wandering around this prison they call headquarters, seeing ghosts of her everywhere.

She jumped out from behind corners, her laugh echoed through the rooms.

It was torture.

And now it has stopped, or at least, I have ceased to live half in memory and commenced living in it entirely.

I like it here, mysterious somebody. I can see people who have been dead for years, and they smile and wave and are undeniably alive.

But I digress, yet again...

We now jump ahead to yet another, seemingly random event which would affect my life in a monumental way, many years into the future.

This account will be mainly comprised of such things, I think. Jumps and leaps back and forth in time. It will no doubt read something like the journey of an idiot with a time-turner. I am sorry, mysterious somebody (if you still read on), if this haphazard format confuses you. Sadly, I think it reflects the state of my mind. Or I suppose, what's left of it.

"I think Remus is a werewolf."

James watched me through shuttered eyes, and I wasn't sure what kind of response he wanted from me. "Ok." I said finally, nodding slowly and flicking the page of my quidditch magazine. James frowned.

"He is always sick," he intoned gravely, "on the full moon"

I hadn't actually noticed this. I hesitated slightly before saying, "James, he is always sick, full-stop."

"On the full moon" James added insistently.

I considered, shoving my magazine aside. It was probably true, James tended to notice things like this. Pointless things, seemingly unrelated to anything at all interesting. Of course, in the end those pointless observations always seemed to lead to the most brilliantly insightful conclusions. So I owed it to him to pay attention.

Remus was strange, I knew that much. He was sickly, always covered in healing or raw scratches, jumpy whenever anyone mentioned nighttime or the moon, or anything that happened monthly. He'd famously almost knocked himself out with his text book when a girl from our year had casually mentioned 'our monthly curse'. I'd just assumed his reaction was some weird remnant of a childhood belief in cooties and girl germs. But perhaps not.

"I believe you, Potter," I said finally. James still looked as though he were waiting for something, "yeah," I tacked on in an effort to discover his purpose in bringing this up, "it would explain a few things."

"Does it freak you out?" James asked, eyes expectant.

I considered again. So Remus was strange, I knew that much. He didn't like dogs, hated cats and always had ripped robes. And, in all probability, morphed into a huge, savage, flesh-eating wolf once a month.

It was actually kind of cool.

I liked wolves, and dogs. I liked the way they moved, the sense of the predator that they exuded. The way they could sniff out their prey, and intimidate everybody as well as demand instant respect because of qualities which also inspired fear. Their speed, their beauty, their teeth...

"I want to be a wolf." I said vaguely, absently answering James' question with my lack of concern, "a black one."

James smiled. It was a strange, half smile, which left me almost lost for words. He pushed his glasses up his nose and ruffled his hair. "You know," he said, still smiling, "it's funny you should mention that, because I have an idea..."

I shall now sum up three full years' work in a few short words.

Or just one.

Animagus.

Harry can explain, mysterious somebody, if you are confused, but I am sure that you understand. After all, you come from a long line of perceptive pedantics who are practically sleuths when it comes to deciphering the family line.

Just think to yourself, how can a man be friends with a wild animal?

The answer is, he cannot. Unless, of course, he is something of an animal himself.

I must stop now, someone is moving around downstairs. I do not want to be found here. The explanations that would be required are beyond me.

I will end on a happy note, because I think now that I am doing the right thing.

At least, I can almost feel _her_ hair brushing my neck, almost see her lips curve into a smile as she reads over my shoulder.

_She_ approves.

And, seeing as she has always insisted that she is always right, I feel surer of my task than ever before.

I will write more tomorrow night, mysterious somebody. Until then, sleep well, stay strong, and _be like her._


	3. Chapter 3

It is presently eight o'clock in the evening, mysterious somebody, and I am settling in for an early night, so I will be well rested and ready to help Molly clean the house tomorrow morning.

Or so she thinks. I've left her downstairs, fussing about in the kitchen like a particularly irritable house elf. My lack of appetite irks her- she seems to take it personally. Sometimes, I stay around downstairs for longer than necessary, pretending to eat to pacify her. But not tonight.

You see, mysterious somebody, tonight I felt the need to return to this story before it flees my mind. I have a very short attention span, and I do worry that I will tire of this before it is complete.

Then again, with the image of _her_ standing by my side, tapping her foot impatiently and crossing her arms, it is unlikely that I will ever tire of this.

Not while _she_ is here.

However, even _her_ presence cannot cheer me today. I am not in a good mood. It was indeed Snape who came to check on my state of existence last night, and he was almost pitifully disappointed to find me not yet dead- a blow to my self esteem, indeed. He looked at me, huddled over an old photo album, and said "oh. You're _fine_."

Of course, when I came downstairs, Molly expressed her distress at my lack of liveliness. "You look like a corpse!" were her words, I believe.

Alive or dead, I can please no one it seems, and to have everybody perpetually annoyed at you for things you cannot help is draining.

Finally, it appears that Kreacher has stolen my inkwell, probably because it belonged, in truth, to Regulus.

I _did_ like that inkwell. And it contained my entire supply of black ink. Or, to be more truthful, what remained of Regulus' supply of black ink.

You see, mysterious somebody, there is no plausible excuse for me to need ink, and therefore I cannot very well ask my jolly jailers for fresh supplies.

After all, to whom would I write? I didn't exactly make friends with any of my neighbours when I was in Azkaban, and my family and I are hardly on speaking terms. In fact, my list of current acquaintances is the least likely collection of penpals possible.

Any friends I once had believe me to be dead or are sitting around the dining room table, wearing their usual expressions of concern and solemnity. Hardly likely subjects for a letter. I would absolutely adore to see the look on Snape's face, were I to pen him a little note about my day.

The idea amuses me so very much that I am fully considering writing him a little missive and sending it downstairs. Something along to lines of "hello, old boy! It's been too long since we last caught up? How are things for you, Snivellus. Yours Sincerely, Black. PS: try not to lean too close to the parchment when you write your reply- I find it difficult to read through the grease stains."

Actually, perhaps it _is_ worth asking for new ink…

Or perhaps not. In any case, you can no doubt see now why I am struggling to obtain supplies for this venture. And so, in order to write this I must rely on what remains of Regulus' school things.

This presents a few difficulties:

First, it must be stated that these things have not been used in decades, and so are hardly in the most pristine condition.

Secondly, dear Kreacher spotted me sneaking out of Regulus' room early this morning, and so seems to have decided to make sure that there is as little furniture in here as possible. His logic appears to be, the less there is, the less I can steal.

I cannot fault it- however, one must consider the fact that, as the last heir of the 'Noble House of Black', Reg's things are most definitely mine.

And of course, I cannot help but wonder where he thinks I'm going to take any of the things I steal. You know, considering how I cannot leave the house. It isn't every day that people see a mass murderer walking down the street with a dresser in his arms.

His actions have, in any case, inspired me to take an inventory of what remains. It is, after all, always nice to know what goods you have at your disposal, and as ingrained as my aversion to being 'helpful' actually is, the days here are long enough to spur anyone into usefulness.

I note that all the quills have disappeared, as have most of the books and a few photos. His old broom? Gone. The potions books are gone, too, and most of Reg's wardrobe.

And by wardrobe, I don't mean clothes. I mean wardrobe. Kreacher has removed both doors and all of the drawers.

What Kreacher will do with these I do not know.

Perhaps weep over them or arrange them in some kind of shrine to the family Black. I know so little about elf magic, but I'd be willing to bet, based on this, that there's a special spell to ensure the death of ungrateful family members which specifically involves quills, brooms and drawers.

Don't worry, mysterious somebody. I'll watch my back.

So, my inkwell is gone, I am using a broken quill (so please, excuse the splatters) and I would be sitting on the floor were the chair not too big for Kreacher to carry.

This is why the ink I am using is purple.

I detest purple- so pretentious and silly- but the colour of the ink is only mildly important, _she_ would say, in the grand scheme of things. Of course, had she known the ink was, of all colours, _purple_, she would have wrinkled her nose and sniffed, most disdainfully.

Purple is all very well and good, but for _ink_...

But I must move on. I left you, rather enigmatically, with a scene in which James changed the course of the lives of myself, Lupin and Peter all in one miniscule moment.

I expect you'd like me to elaborate.

Too bad. Learn to live with your disappointment as we move forwards in time, traveling not one, but two years into the future. Don't feel as though you've missed anything too spectacular- I promise that nothing overly interesting happened at all.

I mean, we might have accidentally imploded the lake. And there was that incident with the Slytherin quidditch team- apparently they don't like it when you charm the hoops to rebound the quaffle back into their chasers' faces. We may or may not have transfigured Mrs Norris, most evil cat alive, into a sandwich (Evans ruined our fun by telling Filch before he ate her).

There were those things, typically immature and childish pranks. But we were young and naïve- don't judge us based on those stories….

After all, the pranks became _infinitely _cleverer as we got older.

And so, we move seamlessly into fourth year.

The crowd was making it difficult to see what was going on. Isn't that one of the most frustrating parts of major events? You know it's worth seeing because of all the people trying to see. But all those people who show it is worth seeing, make actually seeing it impossible.

A veritable catch 22, as James, standing by my side with a look of intense irritation on his face, was fast learning.

"Move, idiot! You're in my way!" he snarled at an errant first year, who subsequently squealed and jumped a full foot to the left, barreling into a fifth year.

"Watch it!" the fifth year growled, and the boy whimpered. I felt a small -very small- pang of pity for the child.

It was forgotten with the arrival of Remus.

"This is ridiculous," he said exasperatedly, nudging a rowdy third year out of the way in an effort to maintain hold of his massive pile of books.

The years had done nothing to improve his ragged appearance. While I had always managed to make disarray look tasteful (in my opinion), Remus' version of disarray simply looked...messy.

His hair stood in matted clumps, sticking up in strange angles, his robes were torn (as per usual) and his shoes were scuffed. Somehow -and his ability to attract dishevelment never ceased to amaze me- he had managed to smear a streak of ink from his left ear to his nose.

His books were also a mess; sheets of paper flying out in all directions, as though caught in his own little private whirlwind. I glanced at the direction he'd come from- the mess he'd left behind gave a whole new meaning to the term 'paper trail'.

Lazily, I reached out, plucking a few stray pieces from the air and passing them back to him.

"Thanks," he said with a smile, trying to catch them under his chin.

I dismissed his gratitude with a wave of my hand, "yeah, yeah. So what is going on here?"

He looked surprised, "you don't know?" he asked, making a grab for yet another sheet of paper, wafting casually away from him.

Instinctively, I caught it and shoved it back under his chin, "Oh, no, I know. I just thought I would ask anyway, you know- for _fun_."

Remus took my biting sarcasm in his stride, "well, I'm not too sure, actually. But earlier Frank told me that everyone was crowding around the Slytherin table because," he paused here, apparently mildly perturbed. So much so that he didn't even notice when his inkwell upended in his arms, trickling bright blue ink down his robes.

"Because...?" I prompted, waving my wand to clean up the spill he'd made as I waited for my answer.

"Because there's a new girl"

I was confused, "that's all?" Remus shrugged, apparently at the end of his information supply.

I considered.

New girl? How was that possible? Anyone with magical abilities was handpicked to attend our school as children. You can't just develop magical abilities as a teenager. Witchcraft wasn't like puberty- there just weren't 'late bloomers'. She had to be a first year.

"How is she new?" I asked, "the year started three months ago. Did she, what, miss the last sixty trains into Hogwarts or something?"

Remus shook his head, sending more scraps of parchment fluttering into the air, which James nonchalantly caught without taking his eyes off of the crowd, "nah, Sirius," he said, "she's a fourth year."

"Huh?"

"A fourth year," Remus said patiently, " our age. Well, just a little younger than us, from what Frank said. But he wasn't being very clear. And she's foreign… French, I think."

"French?" James asked, sounding eager as he passed the papers back to a grateful Remus, who nodded. This news seemed to fill James with new determination to discover more, and with a steely expression he charged into the crowd.

I watched him go, just as eager but not quite as energetic. This was becoming interesting. A new student. A new _girl_ student- a _French_ girl student. My mind filled with images of scantily clad dark haired girls, wearing berets instead of hats and dancing around some conveniently placed poles in the middle of the great hall.

I smiled my trademark, lazy grin, "French." I repeated, musingly. Suddenly, a face rather unlike the ones I'd been imagining surfaced before me, parting the crowd like one of those muggle ships parts the ice in Antarctica.

No beret; instead, glasses. And an Adam's apple.

Most disappointing.

"James." Remus announced, rather redundantly.

"She ran away from school. Used to go to Beauxbatons." James grinned, panting a little, " she actually _ran away_, can you believe it? They couldn't find her for three whole months. Had everybody searching. Ministry, her parents, the school. When they _finally_ found her, she said wouldn't go back to Beauxbatons. Ever." His grin widened, "and apparently she said some other not-so-polite stuff, too. Dumbledore said she could come here."

James paused to take a breath, and Remus frowned, taking advantage of the break to ask the most logical question he could think of, "it took them three _months_? Where did she go?"

"She was in Belgium. Living as a muggle." Peter piped up eagerly from the sidelines. All of us jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Have you been there this whole time?" I asked with a grin, and he flushed.

James looked confused, "nah, I heard it was Moscow, Wormy."

Peter shook his head emphatically, "no, she _speaks_ Russian but she _lived_ in Belgium."

"Why Belgium?"

I shook my head at Remus, profoundly saddened by his lack of vision, "Mooney, you are missing the point. Which is namely, before you ask, that there is a hot, untouched French girl just waiting for one of us to sweep her off her feet and then leave her for dead."

Remus snorted. "Have fun, Sirius. I'm not up for the whole 'sweeping' thing. Honestly, the only one who'll be doing any of that is _you._"

"Oi!" James protested, temporarily forgetting his devotion to Lily in the excitement.

I shrugged, "I never _sweep_. Manual labour? Please. I simply walk into the room, and when they faint, I catch them. Simple." But my nonchalant tone was belied by the predatory smile on my face. The smile meant something; I called shotgun- the first crack at this girl was mine.

James snorted, recognizing my look and immediately giving up on the poor little Frenchie. He glanced quickly back through the crowd, and I didn't bother to turn, because I knew what it was he would be looking at.

"Close your mouth. I'm drowning in drool." I announced, examining my fingernails for specks of dirt.

James ignored me, but Remus shot me a tired grin which plainly said '_Here we go again'._

"Hey, Evans!"

The red headed girl turned around, her face already settled into its default tortured expression. She always looked like that when she heard James calling. "What?"

James gave a grin. He regarded it as triumph that Lily would deign to talk to him; she didn't always. "We were wondering what you knew about this French girl." He said with a lopsided grin.

Lily's eyes narrowed dangerously, slits of green in her face, "why," she asked in what was _clearly_ a warning tone, "would I know anything about her at all?"

James faltered, confused but stupidly undaunted, "you girls always gossip, don't you?" he ventured, attempting to salvage the situation. Which might've worked, if Lily had found idiocy charming.

Ha.

I wanted to laugh, but loyalty to James made me hold my tongue. A true friend never laughs at his friend's stupidity. And besides, his inability to say the right thing with Evans was so chronic it was becoming depressing, rather than funny.

"You always generalise, Potter," Lily snapped angrily in reply. James' disappointment was rather pathetic, "what would you know about it, anyway? You're not a girl, as far as I can see, although, admittedly there is _very_ little evidence to the contrary…"

Waiting for information from them would take all night. Leaving them to their bickering, I searched out another red head in the crowd. My eyes snagged on her, and an old, familiar expression graced my features- triumph.

"Hey, Molly!"

She turned around straight away, giving me a grin, "Sirius!" she gushed, flouncing over with a waggle of her hips, "haven't heard from you in ages? How are you, sweetie?"

Mysterious somebody, the notion of myself and Mrs Weasley (or anybody and Mrs Weasley) probably makes your hair stand on end. I assure you, you have no need to worry. She was older than me, and three years is no small amount when you are fourteen.

Perhaps, were we the same age, something may have happened...

Actually, forget I wrote that. I would cross it out, but this ink (urgh, purple!) is far too precious to waste.

Molly treated me like a little brother, except when she wanted to flirt, which I was always open for.

"So, you have any idea what's happening around here, Molly?" I asked, gesturing to the crowd.

She grinned at me, "and what makes you think _I_ would have any idea?" she teased, and I laughed in response.

"Oh, come off it, Mol," I said, "you and I both know that nothing goes on in this school without your knowing about it. Really, they should get you to write the next edition of 'Hogwarts: A History."

She primped a little in response to my flattery, "well," she said with a conspiratorial wink, "I _might_ have a little knowledge to impart, regarding the situation."

Her gold eyes narrowed with malicious enjoyment as she whispered the last words, and I sighed, "you know, you look your best when you are about to tear someone's reputation to shreds." I told her with a grin.

She rolled those eyes and shot me a dazzling smile, "this girl tore her own reputation to shreds," she said matter-of-factly, apparently disinclined to elaborate. I knew better than to ask her to continue- that was exactly what she wanted- but even as I remained stalwart, she caught sight of the frustration on my face and laughed.

"Here's what I know, Black" she smiled, "and don't you ever say that I'm not good to you..."

I grinned in anticipation- this was going to be good.

"She's in Slytherin. Was sorted in secret last night. That's what the fuss is about." My friends stopped their arguing and eyed me in surprise. Apparently, they hadn't been expecting me to make that sort of announcement. Or any sort of announcement, probably. I was always tragically underestimated by my friends back then.

But now, here they stood, hanging on my words, _praying_ I would elaborate.

Inwardly I grinned, outwardly I smiled patronizingly, "you all look shocked," I said with mock sympathy, "so she's in Slytherin," I continued, "That, as well as the fact that she is a Dahlquist, is what's got everybody up in arms. They're one of the most pureblooded French families around. And they always, always get into Slytherin. Or used to, back when they sent their kids here."

James gaped for a while, then said, "and you couldn't wait for me to find this out?" He sounded strangled, probably lamenting the loss of his chance to bicker with Evans.

"What, and sit patiently while you and Evans cut through this sea of sexual tension and repressed feelings to get to the information I uncovered with just a modicum of effort? No. Life is too short."

Lily growled.

I swear it, she actually growled. "You watch it, Black." she hissed through bared teeth, "you're not as cute as you think you are- one of these days you're arrogance is going to get you in trouble. You'd better think about that.

I glanced back at the crowd, "yeah, whatever. I'll be sure to ponder it while I go find out more. Multitasking, Lily-Flower," she grimaced at the use of her nickname and I winked, "I'm quite stellar at multitasking."

"You want to find out more?" Remus asked, sounding bemused, "Sirius, what else are you expecting? An evil stepmother? A covered-up murder? This isn't some sort of muggle soap opera. That's probably all there is to know."

I shook my head, "oh, poor, innocent Remus," I said with exaggerated sadness. Then I looked back up at him and couldn't keep the grin off of my face, "you're wrong. I know a scandal when I see one. And this?" I gestured at the crowd, now dispersing, behind me, 'This is a scandal. There's more to it all that meets the eye, I'm sure of it."

"And you're just the man to find it all out." James agreed, clapping me on the back.

Lily (apparently not yet ready to leave James side) flicked her hair and smirked, "oh yeah? From who, exactly, Black? I'm fairly sure that _I'm_ the one with the Slytherin connections."

I simply looked up and met her gaze evenly, staring at her with a measured amount of disdain, scorn and patronising patience.

The Black stare.

I could tell when it hit her, my reliable legacy shining through. She sort of faltered, as though the entire weight of my lineage had just fallen from the sky and slapped her across the face.

"Oh, really?" was all I said, before calmly turning and walking away.

_She_ was the one with the connections? _She_ was? I didn't think so. Or rather, I was unwilling to concede that she was right. She _was _the one with the connections- my family barely talked to me anymore, but she and Snivellus were inseparable.

Still, my dramatic declaration had committed me to finding out more, and so I was going to have to find the one person I _least_ wanted to talk to.

Reg was sitting with the quidditch team.

He wasn't laughing, or having fun- not that I could see- and I couldn't help but feel a wave of reluctant affection for my brother, who was awkward enough to still look like a loner while surrounded by friends.

I didn't approach him, simply leant on a nearby pillar and watched the crowd.

It was dissipating faster now, bored with a scandal which had already gotten old. At Hogwarts, new news became old news at an alarmingly rapid rate. Somehow the old house rivalry and the ingrained distance between the different years didn't apply when it came to gossip. When there were rumours afoot, it was the only time you'd find a Hufflepuff 1st year in eager conversation with a Slythering 5th year, and so on. This school unity was wonderful, of course, and very well received by the shocked and relieved faculty (apparently oblivious to the reasons for it), but it meant even though the school was 700 strong, gossip tended to spread like wildfire, then peter out within an hour. Apparently, this previously novel experience was no different. News of our new classmate's miraculous escape from school (every student's dream) had spread around, and now, people assumed that there was nothing more to the story. The Hufflepuff 1st year will try to run away, and the Slytherin 5th year will probably hex them into oblivion, and all over the school the teachers would stare in confusion, wondering if they'd imagined that 60minutes of peace.

Yes, everybody had given up on the story. But I was no such novice- there was something behind all of this, and I would find out what it was if it took me all….

"What?"

I looked down at the boy who'd so rudely interrupted my internal monologue.

Reg was always shorter than me.

Hardly unusual- he was shorter than most people. His diminutive stature gave him a distinct advantage in quidditch- he was able to dart across the pitch in the blink of an eye, slipping in between the gaps in the opposition's defences with ease. It made him a star on the field.

But only on the field.

I will say this now, and it may seem immodest and shallow, but it is truthful, and so cannot be avoided. My brother would never have my popularity- he did not have my looks.

Reg was short and thin. Now, I was no muscular Adonis myself, but where I was lean, Reg was ill proportioned and wiry. He had the famous Black nose, but it had been somehow elongated so that, rather than being imperious, it was beaky. He had the Black hair, but it lacked lustre and was slightly mousier than my own- a dark brown rather than a black. He had the Black eyes, but they were set ever so slightly too close together, dominating his narrow face with their size.

They glared arrogantly at me now.

"What do you want, Sirius?" he snapped, "Need to know where Snape is so you can beat him up? Want a Slytherin banner to spit on?"

I grinned at him, "little brother," I said, "I can assure you that if you were willing to procure a Slytherin banner for me, my response would be much more creative than just _spitting_ on it. I think I can safely say that I'm cleverer than that."

"Oh, really?" Reg asked sourly. He was thirteen and, in personality, my opposite in almost every way- right down to being proud of his lineage. Once we had been close, both suffocating under the weight of our mother's ambitions and prejudices. And as I was the only one who paid attention to him- the weedy, stunted Black boy- I sort of became his rude and often maliciously inappropriate idol. But when I was sorted into Gryffindor, Reg became the golden boy and he found that he liked the attention.

I had never thought of him as living in my shadow before the day when he had stolen the spotlight. No longer was he asked, "why can't you be more like your brother." Now that question was posed to me.

I suppose that I didn't help matters by laughing uproariously whenever disappointed relatives would ask it of me.

"'I'm actually here for information." I told Reg now with a grin. Noticing a group of Slytherin girls looking my way, I ran a hand through my hair and leaned back further into the pillar, folding my arms nonchalantly. The chorus of giggles assured me that I had been appreciated.

Reg looked sick.

He may have had all of the Black features, if morphed out of proportion, but he had none of the Black style and he envied me that. I had the appearance and personality of a perfect Black. Reg had the soul of a perfect Black.

"What?"

"Information," I said slowly, "on the new girl,"

Reg looked blank. I watched him through half closed eyes as he blinked in confusion- useless. Whatever I was thinking must have shown to some degree on my face, because Reg flushed a rather blotchy red. I felt a strange and foreign sort of impulse then- I can only assume _brotherly_ – to put my hand on his shoulder, maybe give him an affectionate punch like I had seen Molly's brothers do when they were talking. Half way toward caving into this impulse I realized how wrong it was and started to pull back. Too late. My fist connected with his shoulder in what probably looked like an involuntary twitch, or some sort of arm spasm. Reg jumped backwards, rubbing his arm, and looked up at me with a shocked expression on his face.

I realized, also too late, that in order to seem brotherly, a smile may have been more appropriate than the creepily blank expression I was currently wearing. No wonder Reg looked scared.

"What was that?" he demanded, voice rising in his agitation.

"Brotherly love," I drawled, opting for my ever-reliable sarcasm in the hopes that pure 'cool' would get me through this mess without looking like a lunatic, "anyway, this new girl-"

"What new girl?" Reg demanded, obviously becoming angrier. He was still wincing and rubbing his arm where I'd punched him. I felt a little guilty, but his whining was getting annoying.

"Man up, little brother," I snapped, "the _new_ girl. The French one." He looked up at me blankly and I grabbed fistfuls of my hair in frustration, "what, are you living under a rock? New girl. _French_. Dark hair! Beret! Dancing!"

I paused for a moment, trying to remember whether those last little tidbits of information had actually been confirmed, or if I was merely bellowing my fantasies at my little brother in the middle of the courtyard. The Slytherin quidditch team, I noticed at that moment, was watching us intently, hunched over a few metres away, brows furrowed as they tried to listen to our conversation. I scoffed and flopped back against the pillar again. "Call off the guard, I'm not going to hex you," I snapped as two butch looking thugs approached us menacingly, "I'm your brother."

"You don't act like it." Reg snapped back, but rather than sounding disdainful, he sounded like he was going to cry, "you never talk to me or anything!" I opened my mouth to disagree but he shot me a glare, "it doesn't count when you're just trying to get _information_ out of me! Half these people probably don't even know I'm your brother, or if they do, it's only because you're still called Sirius _Black_, no matter how much you act like you're not."

"Spare me the sob story." I said, ignoring the pang of guilt I felt at his words, "We can discuss your feelings of inadequacy another time, we'll arrange a _tea party_ or something. Right now? French girl. Were all dying to know."

He might've answered. Probably, judging from the expression on his face, with a few choice words, but as it was, we were interrupted.

And not by the quidditch team.

"Reg? Reg, are you alright?" I turned around and met my own eyes, grey and rimmed in dark lashes, as though reflected in a mirror. Already tired from the anticipated fight, I sighed.

"Bella."

"Reg, is he bothering you?" she asked, ignoring me completely.

"He can handle himself." I snapped at her, infuriated not only by her rejection, but by the way Reg, who a second before had been a spitfire I would have been proud to admit was related to me, was rendered mute and dumb by her presence. He stared glumly at the ground, scuffing his feet and doing _nothing_

"Like you would know if he could." Bella hissed back at me, "come on, Reg, lets go." She placed an authoritative hand on his shoulder and started to march away.

Irked beyond all reason, I launched at her and grabbed her arm. She stared down at where I held her wrist in disbelief, then lifted her gaze to meet mine, clearly outraged. I ignored her anger, "Bella, you haven't talked to me in weeks, this is getting ridiculous." Her gaze softened a little, but I idiotically continued, "will you _please_ just get over the Christmas thing! It was just one bloody day!"

That had been the wrong thing to say.

You could always tell when Bella was spoiling for a fight by the way her eyes would turn black and her nostrils would flare delicately. When Bella scented an argument, she strongly resembled a dog.

Admittedly, I was very much the same, but I, mysterious somebody, had every reason to be.

"You _should_ have been with the family!" Bella practically shouted, apparently too incensed to consider the dignity of the precious 'House of Black', "you should have been with _us_, and yet you ran off to the house of your mudblood-loving, blood traitor friend Potter!"

She flicked her hair in triumph, and I snarled, "yeah, Bella." I said, pushing my own hair out of my eyes, "that's right. I _did_ go to the Potters' house. And do you know what? We made turkey in an _oven_ powered by eplecktrickity, and we watched movies about _muggles_ on a tallyfrision." (you can probably guess from my atrocious pronunciation, that we did no such thing, but Bella wasn't to know that), "And then do you know what I did? Want to know the cherry on top of the _muggle-loving_ cake?" her eyes flared in anger and I grinned wolfishly. "Curious, are you, Bella? Here, I'll bloody well tell you. Me and James went off to a _muggle_ bar and picked up some pretty _muggle_ girls and then we _snogged_ them." Her eyebrows soared into her hairline in shock, and I laughed, "they even gave us their phellytone numbers." I leant in close, til I was inches away from her, "Is'nt that just _scandalous_? What _would_ our dear mothers say? Do you think they'd approve of a winter wedding?"

Bella hated muggle girls. Especially when I liked them. Her (my) eyes flashed blackest black and she yanked her arm out of my grasp with a squeal of outrage.

"Problem?"

I turned around, a bad taste in my mouth.

Standing behind me was a tall, thin boy with curling dark hair and a long nose, green eyes were highlighted by the green lining of his robes and the green lining of his robes highlighted by the sneer on his face.

"Lestrange" I spat, as though the single word was bile on my tongue.

"Black." He answered, as though I didn't deserve the title (probably right), "what are you doing to my girlfriend?"

"My _cousin_ and I were talking." I said quietly, but I could feel a dangerously tight smile forming on my face as I struggled to keep my tone even, "not that this concerns you."

"On the contrary," he said slowly, eyes glittering, "_everything_ to do with Bellatrix concerns me." With deliberate arrogance, he grasped Bella's other arm.

Here I shall say one thing in praise of myself as a teenage boy; though I never could control myself when it came to girls, though I was often heartless and cruel, though I was _constantly_ inconsiderate, I never once, not once, took hold of one like you would a dog.

Like Lestrange did my cousin.

"Hands off." I ordered imperiously, "you want something to yank around? Go get yourself a poodle."

Lestrange grinned demonically, "this is better than some muggle pet, Black. Not that you would know."

"Problem?" somebody asked for the second time in as many minutes. But this liltingly voiced query inspired emotions other than disgust in me- I recognized the voice instantly and smiled maliciously.

"James," I intoned, voice cheerful even as I continued to glare at Lestrange, "welcome."

James stepped up to my side, eyeing Lestrange with familiar distaste, though he said nothing. Witticisms were my job. I felt Remus' presence on my other side, calm and calm_ing_. Instantly, I began to loosen up. Remus, mysterious somebody, was the oft ignored voice of reason in our quartet, but though we took him horribly for granted, by simply _being_ there he often stopped us from doing stupid things.

Well, he tried anyway.

Lestrange grinned at the arrival of my friends, and then, I do not lie, actually _clicked_, summoning the entire Slytherin quidditch team.

I snorted as they approached, "here, boys." I said, whistling to them. They gnashed their teeth and made all manner of terrifying facial expressions, frothing at the mouth and stamping their feet like animals.

Do not _scoff_, mysterious somebody. I am allowed _some_ artistic license. It adds drama to the scene.

"What's going on, Lestrange?" one of them asked, spitting a globule of phlegm onto the path, "having some trouble?"

"Black _manhandled_ Bellatrix." Lestrange announced, sounding not offended so much as though he were anticipating something rather delicious.

I glanced at my cousin. She looked, if anything, incredulous. Her long thick hair was tumbling down her shoulders in a silky looking waterfall and she was biting her lips. Bella, mysterious somebody, was always very pretty. Almost instinctively, I raised my eyebrow to her, in appreciation of the irony of Lestrange's statement. He seemed to have forgotten that as he lamented to woes of poor Bellatrix's 'manhandling' he was clutching her arm so tightly she was losing circulation. Before she could stop herself, Bella grinned in answer to my silent jibe. But she remembered herself in a moment and cleared her face of all expression.

I couldn't help but laugh at the scene, outnumbered though we were. Bella had yet to remove her hand from Reg's shoulder, and Lestrange was still clamped down on her arm. When the quidditch team stepped up, I sort of expected a conga line to break out.

But the hilarity of the situation (to which our opposition seemed oblivious) was eclipsed by the very real possibility that without backup, James, Remus and I would be beaten to a pulp.

"Hey, what's going on here?"

I love quidditch.

The second that the Slytherin team had gathered, the Gryffindor team had decided to approach. That James, their favourite chaser, was involved only made things more interesting. Three cheers for testosterone-powered rivalry. Hip hip!

James looked to me to answer this.

"I do think Lestrange may have scarred me for life." the Gryffindors looked confused, I elaborated, "he started to talk to me, see, and you know, I turned around to answer and I had to look at his _face_! I may never recover..."

There were snickers from my side, but Lestrange seemed considerably less amused. The colour in his cheeks rose dramatically and his hands gripped Bella's arm so tightly she winced.

"You wanna settle this somewhere else, Black?"

I suggested a place, which was probably far too small and smelly to have a duel in. Not to mention inconveniently located and physically impossible for Lestrange.

The Slytherins hissed.

A small hand brushed my arm, "hey, Sirius, you promised! No more fights!"

Lianne, a curvy brunette chaser, was looking at me reproachfully. I smiled at her and took her hand. "Lianne, this doesn't count as a fight. This is more like," I considered, searching for words, "like an act of goodwill to benefit all the human race. After all, only good can come of slaughtering Lestrange."

Bella snarled, and I wondered whether it was my blatant slur towards her boyfriend which had upset her, or the fact that lovely Lianne was stroking my forearm. I decided to risk the latter and gave her a quick kiss.

Bella positively growled. She hated the idea of Blacks and Gryffindors. Lestrange ignored her, "lets do this properly, Black. Just me, and you."

By my side, Remus tensed up, obviously concerned. I believe I earlier wrote that his mere presence was often enough to save James and I from our own stupidity. I would like to amend that now. Perhaps not _often,_ actually. Perhaps, to be more accurate… sometimes? And at this particular time, it was not quite enough.

I shrugged at Lestrange, "fine. Bring it."

….

Hogwarts is a boarding school, mysterious somebody, you know that. It is a boarding school next to a forest. A boarding school you cannot apparate out of. A boarding school near a town where the most hardcore way to pass the time involves seeing how many fizzing whizzbees you can fit in your mouth before your head explodes.

There is _no_ form of entertainment at Hogwarts. Not unless you make it yourself. And for that reason, duels were always a big deal at Hogwarts, especially when they gave the patriotic houses a rallying point and an opportunity to vent their rivalries.

Slytherin vs. Gryffindor.

It would be huge.

"This is so against the rules it's not even funny." Remus said quietly, as we sped down the hall under the cover of James' cloak, "what happens if you get hurt? What happens if the teachers find out?"

I grinned at James, before turning back to Remus, "I won't tell if you won't." I said in a stage whisper, and James laughed. We had been refusing to acknowledge the logic behind Remus' pertinent queries the whole way to the venue.

"And if you get expelled?" Remus asked, more persistent than we'd given him credit for, "and if you get hurt?" He'd already said that one- that meant his brain would be stuck on a loop until we answered him.

"I wont get expelled," I sighed, "I'm a Black- they wouldn't dare. Expelling me would give cause for my mother to come and pick me up, and _nobody_ in their right mind would give want her visiting." James snorted, "And anyway, Moony, why do you assume it will be me who gets hurt? My ego will never recover. Lestrange is moronic at the best of times."

"Your ego _always_ recovers," Remus said dryly, "and Lestrange is a _seventh year_." he pointed out patiently, "he knows more than us!"

"Knowledge isn't everything." James said sagely, "in fact, when it comes to dueling, knowledge is worth bugger all. It's guts and quick thinking that win a duel, and Sirius here has more guts than anyone I've ever met, and he thinks fast."

I turned to my friend with a bemused smile, "thanks, James."

James grinned, "don't mention it," he told me, before turning back to Remus, "if he wasn't such an idiot, I reckon he could win this thing."

I cuffed him over the head, "shut up, James." I told him, as he chuckled cheerfully, "I am going to do just fine."

We rounded the corner, climbing up over the herbology wall and dropping noiselessly into the small courtyard behind it. This was where Professor Sprout (winner of the 'Sexiest Professor' poll five years running) grew her little 'experiments'- cross breeds of different plants. Last week, a combination of a Fanged geranium and some devil's snare had nearly resulted in a hostile plant coup. The plant grew at nineteen times the normal rate, which was bad news for the 2nd year herbology class who'd been potting it, and the Hufflepuff quidditch team, whose practice session had been overrun by rapidly growing devil's snare. With teeth.

Macgonnagal had suggested that the patch be cleared, and Sprout had grudgingly complied. The word was that the school board was debating whether or not Sprout should be allowed to continue with her little 'floral arrangements'. So for now, it was devoid of all life. Just a good sized square of cut grass and pavers, _begging_ to be used.

As a dueling ground.

I recovered from the jump over the wall almost instantly, and gave a low whistle as I surveyed our makeshift dueling ring. A particularly innovative 5th year had charmed the remainder of the dead 'Fanged Snare' into a large circle, and spelled it to glow softly in the dark night. I suppose they were a neutral party, because it looked to be all white, not sporting either Gryffindor or Slytherin colours. Of course, even as that thought crossed my mind, some idiotic Gryffindow shouted "woo! GO LIONS!" and hit it with a charm to make the interwoven vines flash red and gold. Slytherin retaliated, naturally, and this continued for quite a while, until one of the prefects present put a stop to it. Over by the far corner of the courtyard, some enterprising 3rd year was taking bets, which seemed to put James out, "Ludo will not be pleased," he said, referring to a seventh year he'd gotten chummy with, "I promised him he could be bookie."

"James?" I asked, and he turned to look at me, blinking in shock, I grinned, "lets just keep the focus on me, shall we. Forget Bagman- I'm getting jealous." Knowing I was joking, James laughed and clapped me on the back. I turned back to the 'arena' and my grin broadened, "quite a turnout," I said, and heard James gasp by my side as he took in the view..

"No way is this going to go unnoticed." Remus observed with a grimace.

People lined the tiny yard, all whispering noisily as they waited for the promised duel. First years had been herded to the very edge, and they peeped over the shoulders of the older students as well as they could. Though the majority of the spectators were Slytherins and Gryffindors, dozens of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had turned up as well, standing awkwardly to one side, conversing sporadically with the more enthused observers.

The only area of quiet was the actual dueling ring, which was once again flashing Gryffindor and Slytherin colours, a seemingly vast area of space utterly unoccupied but for Lestrange, who was standing in the centre with Bella at his side.

I approached, making sure that Remus, James and Peter were all flanking me. Lestrange's head was bent as he whispered something in Bella's ear, but as we drew nearer, he straightened up, fixing me with a glare.

And Bella turned around...

I stopped, staring at her in confusion, "who," I asked slowly, "are you?"

The girl I had thought was Bella was decidedly not Bella.

She was about Bella's height, and had a figure like Bellas (slender and long limbed with a tiny waist), but her hair was not inky black like my cousin's. Her hair was a pale ash blonde streaked through with gold, and fell in tangled ringlets around past her shoulders, messy and wild. What I had thought was her hair was only her hood, pulled up over her head, and it was that which she lowered now, looking up at me with dark blue eyes.

"Aurelie," Lestrange said with no attempt to hide his distaste, "meet Black."

The girl looked me up and down slowly, her gaze biting and full of disdain. I took the opportunity to consider her more closely, too. She was wearing the Hogwarts uniform, and looked about my age, but I'd never seen her before. The uniform in question, however, was what caught my eye. Her robes were baggy- obviously too big, and hanging open from her shoulders. That left the remains of her uniform on display. And I mean 'remains'. Her skirt was shockingly short, barely brushing her thighs, for all that she wore tights beneath it. Her shirt, by contrast, was far too big- so much so that she'd knotted it at her hips to keep it from swamping her. And it was not in pristine condition. It was frayed and ripped, much like the baggy robes she wore over the top of it.

She was certainly different.

"A...pleasure." she said finally in heavily accented English. Her tone conveyed her opinion of this charade- it was a farcical attempt to pretend civility and she knew it. Her eyes were full of contempt, and, I noticed, _very_, almost excessively, blue. The dark makeup smudged around them only highlighted this.

"Black," Lestrange began again, grinning broadly, "this is my cousin, Aurelie Dahlquist."

James whistled through his teeth.

There was an awkward sort of silence as Aurelie and I examined each other, forming our final opinions.

She was undeniably pretty, _very_ pretty, and she did indeed look wild enough to be the femme fatale the gossip had made her out to be. It was so clear now- but I'd only realized when he'd said her name, her _French_ name. No beret, no dark hair for me- she was an ice queen, not my own private pole dancer. Still, I'd have no cause to be disappointed, except that something about her made my lip curl in disgust. It was not her relation to Lestrange- that would almost make her _more_ appealing as a conquest. It was not her presence at this, the most trying moment of my life- that was to be expected.

Something about her just seemed...off...to me.

The look in her eyes told me she felt the same. She tore her gaze from mine with her chin held high, and an expression which communicated just how disgusting a person she found me. That disgust faded to a neutral indifference as she turned to her cousin.

"I will go and sit." she told him lightly, and he nodded.

"Sit with Macnair," he told her, as she stalked off with cat-like grace, "he'll look after you."

She did not, I noticed, go and sit with Macnair. Or, for that matter, the other Slytherins. Nor did she join the Ravenclaws or the Hufflepuffs. I wondered where she was planning on going.

That question was answered when she elegantly folded her legs beneath her and sat, crosslegged, on a patch of grass. As I watched she leant back on her arms, stretching out her legs and giving a bored yawn. Around her, the students parted like the Red sea for Moses, giving her a wide berth.

She didn't look perturbed. In fact, the corners of her mouth had curled up, as though she relished their awe.

"Lets start this thing." Lestrange was saying, and I jerked around to meet his gaze, wondering how long he'd been talking- wondering what he'd said.

"Whenever you're ready, Lestrange." I told him with a mocking bow, hiding my misgivings. His eyes narrowed into dark slashes across his face and he strode to the other end of the ring.

I turned to face the audience. Somehow, during the brief exchange between myself and Lestrange, they had separated into two distinct groups, one on my side and the other on his. They had rearranged themselves to back their respective champions.

Only one person had not moved.

Aurelie Dahlquist looked up at me with bemused eyes, her disdain barely concealed, contempt dragging the side of her mouth down into a rather attractive sneer.

Her eyes glittered prettily and everything about her screamed 'rebel', from her torn robes to her wild hair. And, quite clearly scrawled across her posture and expression was the message.

_You are beneath me in every possible way. I could walk all over you and still go back for more, not that I would bother. You are nothing, so screw you. Whoever you are._

And that was when I realized exactly what it was that I hated about Aurelie Dahlquist. It wasn't that she was Lestrange's cousin, or that she was Slytherin. It wasn't that she managed to look cool, not slutty, even though she was basically flashing the school. It wasn't that her demeanour made it obvious that I would never _ever_ have a chance with her.

No, it wasn't any of those things. It was something much, much worse.

She was, in essence, a female version of myself.

The knowledge shocked me. Was it possible that after so long somebody had come along who could be as big of a bastard as me, who could cause as much havoc and who could, possibly, care even _less_?

I wasn't sure, but she held my gaze with lazy confidence, and I felt unsettled. I needed to talk to her, to find out who the hell she was who had thrown me so far out of my comfort zone.

A woman was a woman, and as soon as I had an actual conversation with her, this weird connection I felt between us would be gone, banished by her ordinariness. Because she _had_ to be ordinary. This little cow with her pretentiously messy hair and her arrogance would be just like everybody else, up close.

All I needed to do was to talk with her.

Of course, just as I moved to do so, Lestrange drew his wand and shot a bolt of pure energy straight at me.

Casual plea for anybody who is liking the story to R&R- would be very much appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry. I left you at a rather critical moment, I believe. Molly was hammering at the door and she managed to shang hai me into helping with the endless house work.

How there can still be anything left to do when her life revolves around clearing this godforsaken house is utterly beyond me.

But apparently, there is. And so, mysterious somebody, I dusted the staircase, swept the kitchen, peeled enough potatoes for a small army, polished the windows, scrubbed the tiles, attempted to empty one of the many cursed cupboards in the lounge and finally sorted through a month's worth of mismatched socks.

I do believe that this is Molly's method of making sure I don't have time to be depressed or unhappy.

For me, seeing the amount of grime which layers the house of my youth only symbolised my own dirty conscience, and the horror of my cold and loveless childhood.

And before you undoubtedly scoff at my dramatics, consider this: I'm middle-aged, still living at my mother's house and not allowed to leave.

I am entitled to _some_ melodramatic tendencies.

And so, rather than having the beneficial effects that some lunatics might expect of cleaning, I began to get tetchier and tetchier.

I think Molly actually sensed this after a while, because she banished me, exhausted and sore, at about 11 at night.

And then she woke me at dawn to clean some more.

After a few hours of this soap-sudded hell, I was pulled aside by my warden, who, in a very concerned and motherly tone (quite out of place, considering we were close to the same age), said to me. "Sirius, you cannot allow thoughts of her to rule you."

I faltered at the sound of those words, standing still for long moments until I finally mustered up the will to ask, "am I that obvious in my suffering?" the thought brought a bitter laugh bubbling up through my throat, "and here I was, thinking I was soldiering through in silence. A stoic, unknown hero."

Molly, obviously expecting a more serious answer or perhaps a tearful confession, pursed her lips, "Sirius, she's gone now. She's gone, but you're still here- it's time you moved on." I suppose she was trying, in her own way, to be helpful. And perhaps she was being helpful- sort of. But as I met her gaze, I saw something in her which made me a balk a little. Eagerness. She was _eager_ for me to forget _her_. Of course she felt like that- of _course_ she did. There was never any love lost between them

"And how do I do that?" I demanded, allowing myself to grow angry as I watched her kind smile falter, "you say it as though it's easy- like it's the simplest thing in the world, but I can't just 'move on', can I? If Arthur died, you'd die inside as well, wouldn't you?" Molly didn't answer. "Wouldn't you?" I asked again.

Molly could not answer me, I knew she could not. And seeing her standing there, so helplessly, mysterious somebody, reminded me of a night, many years ago, when she'd stood in my doorway, with rain streaking her makeup and her hair dripping water, empathy oozing from her eyes as she said. "_Its no good, Sirius. No one knows where she is..."_

"But then again, you would still have your children, wouldn't you?" I asked, not really expecting an answer so much as thinking aloud, "you would still have something to live for. Your children..."

And then, the ghost standing before me was myself.

_"No! No, no, no! "_

_"I thought you'd be..."_

_"What? Happy? Damn it, this is not the time for this kind of thing. We're in the middle of a war and you expect me to be happy because you're..."_

_"Pregnant. Just say it, Sirius. I. Am. Pregnant. You are going to be a father..."_

"Without her, I have nothing." I whispered, more to myself than Molly, "Without her I _am_ nothing. I never knew it would be like that until she was gone. And now, well, now it's too late."

We stood stock still like that for a long time, Molly clutching the broom, myself holding a sponge dripping water which was suspiciously black in colour.

The scene probably looked ridiculous, especially when Kreacher limped past, muttering curses under his breath. Neither of us moved, so he simply stared at us for a minute, beady eyes darting to and fro as he attempted to make sense of the situation, then shuffled off again, still cursing almost inaudibly.

Finally, hesitantly, Molly spoke, and the words in the big empty hallway of my family home, chilled me to the bone.

"But Bella isn't dead, Sirius." she said softly.

You don't really need to hear this.

...

"Foul! We hadn't started yet!"

I jumped to my feet, ignoring James' incessant calls for justice.

I had bigger things to worry about.

Lestrange had shot another curse at me. With a yelp, I dodged it, jumping to the side and shooting a hex at him.

I felt vaguely mollified when his angry cry implied that my spell had hit its mark.

"Good one, Sirius!" James roared from the sidelines, "you show that bastard who's the best!"

I shrugged off his praise, and caught sight of Evans in the crowd, eyeing James with her habitual disgust. That made me smile, and when she glanced back at me, I winked at her, flicking my wand in the air and showering the audience with red and gold sparks.

A chorus of cheers went up from the Gryffindor side, drowning out the boos from the Slytherins. Booing _me_? I registered indignantly. Those cocky little bastards.

Lestrange hissed and threw a curse at me. It almost hit, but I managed to get my shield charm up just in time. The jet of light bounced off it and over Lestrange's shoulder, shattering the brick it rebounded onto into a million pieces. Lestrange was clearly not messing around. Dropping my shield, I sent another hex his way, this one to bind his legs, because unlike _some_ people, I was not a homicidal maniac.

Lestrange dodged it easily, his own shield charm now activated, but my next curse wasn't so easily blocked.

Perhaps you know a little something about dueling, mysterious somebody, in which case I can only imagine your disdain at my next move. But perhaps you inherited my sense of humour, in which case I can _definitely_ imagine your amusement.

The spell I chose was, admittedly, very immature; it only made the place it hit very, very itchy. Itchy to the point of distraction. Itchy enough to make you drop everything and just go mad scratching. Junior stuff, but when used correctly, it can be very, _very_ effective.

As it was in this case.

The crowd gasped as Lestrange clutched his groin, one place he hadn't been expecting an attack.

I took the opportunity to bow to the crowd, and the Gryffindors roared in appreciation of my showmanship and downright immaturity. However, it was this same show of disdainful so called 'style' that made it difficult to block my opponent's swift retaliation.

I was thrown six feet backward, skidding across the ground at an alarmingly rapid speed. If it weren't for some seriously quick spellwork on my part, I would have been flung from the ring and forfeited the duel. As it was, I stopped myself just in time, and other than a sore arse and wounded pride, I was perfectly fine.

James was at my side in an instant, "go on, Padfoot. Show them what you've got." he whispered, hauling me to my feet.

I turned around, "James," I said quietly, looking back at him over my shoulder.

He grinned, like a proud father watching his son's first steps, "yeah?" he asked.

"Stop giving me encouragement."

And then I was back on my feet, ready for another bout.

Embarrassingly, though I began this memory, I cannot actually remember much of it. The fight is a blur, nothing but flashes of light, cheering people and random pain.

I do remember the end.

We'd been dueling for almost half an hour, and even if Lestrange wasn't tired, I sure as hell was.

It was not clear to me who was winning; the actual dodging and casting of spells was pretty much taking up all of my attention- I didn't have the chance to consider things as mundane as the actual status of the match.

It is most probable that I was losing, mysterious somebody, but you can be sure that, were I losing, I was doing it with style.

Lestrange's next curse hit me in the stomach and I doubled over, watching as the strips of robe I could see between my fingers sizzled into nothing and the skin beneath them began to burn.

"What the hell!" I screamed angrily, standing up and shooting another curse back at Lestrange. He dodged it easily, and I wanted to scream in frustration because not only was I losing, but my robes had disintegrated into, well, not nothing but extremely little.

There were huge slashes across them where Lestrange's curse had hit. I had no idea what he'd gotten me with or what it did, but judging from the fact that everything it touched had fizzled and disintegrated, I had to assume it was a burning curse. The skin I could see through what remained of my robes was bubbling slightly. I found that more than a little worrying.

Fuming, I ripped my outer robe off so that I was standing there in my jeans and a t-shirt. Some may say that I did that for effect- that I wanted to hear the sighs of the girls in the crowd to boost my morale. I contest this. My aim was to lose some layers of already sizzling clothing, and make moving around a lot easier.

The sighing girls were just a bonus.

I was in the middle of a duel, but you'll be pleased to note that I _did_ have time to note that the slashes across the shirt actually looked quite cool and artistic. The effect was somewhat spoiled, of course, by the fact that the skin under them was turning a rather unattractive shade of grey.

It was only as I straightened up, baring my wounds to the public, that I became aware of the reaction of the surrounding crowd.

A howl had gone up from the Gryffindor side, as though they were the ones whose sides were being melted by some kind of poncy Slytherin 'fairy acid' or something. Perhaps returning to their caveman roots, my supporters had begun to stomp their feet and make a noise which I can describe only as a repetitive grunt.

Not the most dignified show of support, but at least they were empathising in a way.

"FOUL" the bellow sounded close to my ear, and I winced, keeping my eyes on Lestrange and ignoring James completely in the hopes that he would shut up. No such luck. In fact, apparently chagrined by Lestrange's apparent dismissal of his words, James cast a projection spell, and with his wand to his throat to increase the volume of his voice, bellowed, "FOUL! YOU BASTARD, LESTRANGE! YOU ARE DEAD!"

"James..." I said testily, my gaze never moving from Lestrange's smug face. I would slaughter him. And I would do it without poncy Slytherin fairy acid (to this day, I can think of no other way to identify that spell)

"BASTARD! BASTARD! FIGHT FAIR, BASTARD! YOU ARE SO DEAD!"

"Shut up, James." I called, getting angrier now. Out of the corner of my eye I could see my friend, restrained by two Gryffindors as he clawed at thin air, spittle flying from his mouth as he shouted at Lestrange.

"YOU JUST WAIT UNTIL THIS DUEL IS OVER, LESTRANGE. YOU ARE DEAD!"

I couldn't see Lily anymore, but I imagined that she would be less than charmed by James' display of fanatical loyalty. I resisted the urge to laugh. Barely.

And then, my amusement faded.

Because, sitting nearby James, watching the duel with obvious boredom, was Aurelie Dahlquist.

She was leaning back on the palms of her hands with a cigarette held lightly between her fingers, head cocked to the side, eyes half closed, watching James with a mixture of amusement and disdain. That was bad enough, but then, more insulting, she raised a long, pale hand to her mouth and _yawned_.

I do not lie.

"Bitch" I whispered, astonished, and to my surprise, she looked my way and raised an eyebrow, as though asking.

'_Can I help you?'_

Or perhaps, considering the circumstances, what her expression was meant to convey was, '_aren't you supposed to be concentrating on something?'_

"Sirius, you loser! Watch out!"

"Huh?" I turned around in confusion.

Lestrange's curse hit me straight in the back.

My wand flew out of my hand in an instant, as though torn away by some unseen force, and I was flung to the ground.

My head hurt like hell. _And _I'd gotten little bits of Fanged snare in my bubbling stomach wounds, and those fangs were _sharp._

With a groan, I rolled over onto my back, staring up at the billions of stars above me.

Automatically, my eyes sought out my star, Sirius, but before I could locate it, a huge, ugly head had blocked my view.

"In your place at last, are you, Black?" Lestrange had already begun to gloat.

"Place? I would never be so predictable as to have a _place_" I told him, stoically ignoring my singed stomach, "I am more of a nomad...a wanderer. A lone wolf..."

"Whatever you say, Black" Lestrange dismissed me with a wave of his hand, "you talk too much. I, however, just have one thing to say to you."

"With your tiny brain," I agreed, "it would be a strain to think of _more_ than one," his eyes flashed. I sighed, "fine. What is it you want to say?"

Lestrange smiled a strange, thin, smile. It reminded me somehow of a snake, or maybe a spider. One of those disturbing predators who you feel actually revels in the pain of their prey.

And, for the first time in my life, a part of me actually felt like prey. It was horrible. Poor little antelope. Poor little mosquito. Your lot in life is hard, if you always feel like that.

Lestrange opened his mouth to deliver his final blow.

"TEACHERS!"

He craned his head around to look, his mouth still hanging open in preparation for his final would-be devastating insult. People were running everywhere, trying desperately to leave the scene of the crime. Lestrange, coward that he was, immediately retreated, dashing off into the darkness within seconds of the warning being sounded.

I lacked the energy to get up. The ground was quite comfortable, really. I sort of liked that it was all cold and hard and littered with magical residue. I thought it as good a place as any to sleep that night. With that in mind, I closed my eyes and waited for the teachers. Seeing Professor Sprout in her pyjamas was definitely worth the duel- maybe she'd be wearing a negligee….

"Well, that took them longer than I expected." The cool, calm voice was not the one I had been expecting.

"Remus?" I frowned, scrunching my eyes closed, "go away. I'm waiting for Professor Sprout."

I sensed, rather than heard, his sigh, "Get up, Sirius. They'll be here any second, and you don't want to have to explain this."

I scrambled to my feet, looking around at the suddenly deserted courtyard. By my side, Remus surveyed the same scene with a mildly exasperated eye, as though the whole dramatically violent duel had been an irksome, yet inescapable event which he had already begun to get over.

There were scorch marks across several of the walls, and the few trees that had lined the small space were nothing, piles of ash disappearing with the breeze.

"That," I told my friend, imagining my stomach lining blowing away with the wind, "was probably the stupidest thing I have ever done."

Remus turned to me with an amused but tired smile, "really?" he asked, "I can think of some others..." But he eyed my stomach, eyes alight with concern, "though I can't think how you're going to fix that up.

I shrugged, "Poppy has a soft spot for me," I said.

Remus raised an eyebrow, "oh, yeah?" he asked. "You feel _Madam Pomfrey_ has enough of a soft spot for you to turn a blind eye to dueling?"

My grin was manic as I prodded at the still-smoking gashes in my stomach, "ow. I need to _learn_ this spell….. Poppy," Remus raised an eyebrow, "fine, Pomfrey! Ah, I'll tell her I fell over. It'll do."

"Fell over onto what? A really angry magical midget?"

"Sounds pretty plausible to me." I answered, content, "just the sort of thing that James and I would do."

Then we were racing to get over the wall and back into the school. James had gone already, Remus told me, but had left the invisibility cloak we loved so much.

As we sprinted along one of the corridors, I panted out a question which had been burning at the inside of my throat for some time. A question which should not have even occurred to me, but had. A question I was mildly embarrassed to be asking.

But I had to ask it.

"That Dahlquist girl?"

Remus seemed to tense up beside me, though his face remained neutral and his gaze stayed fixed on the Marauders Map in his hands "yeah?"

"What did she say, at the end of the match?"

I knew Remus was the wrong person to ask- he never noticed that sort of thing, really. But to my surprise, after a brief pause, he answered.

"She didn't stay for the end of the match." He said slowly, "she and Lily Evans left just before. I think they were bored..."

"Right." I said, glad he wasn't looking at me to see my eyes flash red, "fair enough, I guess."

"She seems nice, though." Remus suggested mildly.

I felt my the corners of my mouth drag down into a sneer, "sure." I agreed, "nice."

My head filled with the image of her, fag in hand, raising a hand to yawn at my injury.

I decided that I hated Aureliee Dahlquist.

...

"Seriously, Sirius." I laughed, but James hushed me with a wave of his hand, "Padfoot! It isn't _that_ big a favour to ask, is it?"

"Isn't it?" I countered, leaning languidly back against a tree trunk and gazing up at the sky. It was one of the few free periods that we had in fourth year, allotted for us to deal with our mountains of homework, and so I was determined to waste it completely. The sun was shining, the air was clear- it was a perfect day to procrastinate.

James threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Remus!" he cried, "explain to Sirius!" and promptly collapsed, lying sprawled across the grass, presumably crushed by the sheer weight of his distress.

Reums peered over at us from behind his book (some of us weren't quite as dedicated to procrastination). He wore the expression of an amused, but exasperated father. He wore that expression often. "I think he understands, James." his eyes danced with silent laughter, "he's just being, well. He's just being Sirius."

James frowned, sitting bolt upright again, "well, that's not good enough. I need more than that."

I slid my features into an expression of mock hurt, "more than _me_?" James scowled

"I'll do it!" Peter volunteered eagerly from the sidelines of the conversation, "I'll do it, James."

James sighed and pointed across the lake to the group of girls reclining easily on its banks. "You are prepared to approach _them_ and ask to speak to her for me, are you, Peter?"

Peter turned white, quivering with fear, "I..."

"Don't worry." James said knowingly, "Sirius will do it."

"Will I?" I asked, eyes lazily sweeping the school grounds, searching for anything of interest.

"Yes." James said with implacable certainty, "this is easy shit for you, Sirius. You are _used_ to these kind of intrigues."

"James, my friend," I said, dragging my gaze back to him with a barking laugh, "this is _hardly_ what you could term an 'intrigue'."

He rolled his eyes, flapping a hand at me in dismissal, and lay back down again.

I sighed, pulling myself into a sitting position. James' eyes glowed with triumph. Peter looked as though my shift in position would move him to tears. Remus had retreated back into the world of print, and was nothing more than a shaggy patch of hair protruding out of the top of his book.

They were all infuriating. And I loved them all, the tossers.

"Fine," I said, in answer to James' request, "sure. I'll do it. I'm bored here, anyway."

He grinned. "Cool. So just...go on up there and...I don't know...find a willing girl and then...ask her."

"This is stupid." It seemed Remus was not as oblivious as I'd previously thought. He was watching us now with a dismayed expression, tapping his fingers frantically on the cover of his book. "This is stupid. You _know_ what she's going to say, James."

James shrugged this off, "go get her, Sirius."

I obliged, getting to my feet and striding purposefully in the direction of the girls.

Girls are fascinating.

I watched them for I don't know how long. They played with each other's hair and giggled at inane things such as passing boys and their fingernails. Eventually, one of them glanced up and noticed me, and this seemed to prompt a whole new round of giggles and squeals.

I do hope, mysterious somebody, that you are not one of those girls who just...giggles...all the time. I never have been able to understand them, nor have I found myself able to deal with them for more than ten minutes at a time. Even at this point, when I was metres away from them, I felt myself getting annoyed and fidgety.

In my mind, their giggles swelled until they were louder than all the rest of the noise across the grounds- a crescendo of giggling swirling around me like the most irritating symphony ever written.

These girls giggled for such an extraordinarily long time that I almost turned around and left in disgust, but then one broke away from the herd and sashayed towards me. Watching the sway of her hips, even as the sun made seeing her face impossible, I thought I might be persuaded to stay. Even if she _did_ giggle.

Of course, the way she was walking left me with no doubt that she was definitely _not_ a giggler- this was a smirker, make no mistake. When something amused _this_ girl, she would smile. And that would be the end of it.

Based on this assumption, I decided I was in love. My mind amused itself by drawing elaborate fantasies of me and my smirking sweetheart- we would have a winter wedding. She would smirk before she said 'I do'. And then, she would smirk when we opened our wildly inappropriate wedding gifts. The birth of our first child? Smirk. The child learns to walk? Smirk.

She would be entirely un-giggly, and she would be perfect.

Unfortunately she drew closer, I recognised her and my wonderful life plan disintegrated in a puff of smoke, to the sounds of a funeral march and the most evil cackle in existence.

"Dahlquist,"

"Black" her accent lilted slightly. I admired the way that she had once again massacred the uniform. No matter how many times Macgonnagal angrily spelled it back to its original state, it would always be a mess again within the hour. Today, she was wearing odd socks and cargo boots, and a green tulle petticoat under the black school pinafore. It was like she was wearing a tutu, "Simone has told me you are here because you are in love with her," she announced, bored, "Is this correct?"

I snorted, "jealous?"

Her smile was condescending as could be, and she pushed her long hair out of her eyes and met my gaze with disdain, "do you need something in particular?"

"Information." I told her lazily, deciding to play it cool.

I should have known that 'cool' never went down well with Dahlquist.

After all, how can 'cool' impress an ice queen?

She had shot to legend status in a matter of months. Sorted into Slytherin, she immediately befriended Lily Evans, becoming even _more_ of a blood traitor than myself in the eyes of her house. She then hexed a boy brave enough to feel her up, sending him to a week long stay in St Mungo's with a vital part of his anatomy having been shrunk to microscopic size, earning herself a month's worth of detentions, to which she had responded with a casual, "I am not sure why you are punishing me. I have only _helped_ society and the gene pool." After that, she practically bullied the quidditch team into accepting her as a chaser. James assured me it was deserved- she flew like a pro, he said- but the Slytherins regarded her with mixed gratitude and rage; they made a point of _never_ accepting female players. Everybody said she was clever, but she spent more time flouting the school rules than actually studying.

To be short, her popularity was almost as great as mine. And so my hate for her grew. She matched it, dislike for dislike, and our mutual loathing became an expected part of Hogwarts society.

"Information?" she asked, one eyebrow arching in disdain.

I smiled sweetly, "yes, Dahlquist. It means I need you to tell me facts about something, or explain something to me. Do you understand now? Is it all making sense?"

Her face stayed blank, "the only think that doesn't make sense to me, Black, is how you have managed to stay alive so long without a brain. Is it...painful?"

I rolled my eyes, "not as painful as looking at your face," I told her evenly, "now, though these little tiffs are really the highlight of my day, I don't have the time to insult you today." She made an exaggeratedly pained face, as though injured by my lack of interest, "I need you to ask Lily Evans what she thinks of James."

Dahlquist watched me for a moment, face still and calm, and then, apparently deciding that it had been a serious question, she burst out laughing. She was one of those people, mysterious somebody, whom everybody unconsciously watches, so when she laughed, they all looked.

"Mon dieu!" she exclaimed, tossing her head and smiling happily, "che magnifique! He actually hasn't figured it out yet?"

"He's...persistent." I told her, feeling defensive on James' behalf, but unable to side against her on this matter. Eventually, though, her disdainful laughter was too much for me, and so I hissed, "look, Dahlquist. I know you hate me, and you know I hate you. And before you give me any of that wide-eyed bullshit, there's nobody here but us- perfect opportunity to admit that this play fighting is all for show- we really hate each other more than we let on."

She didn't deny it, instead nodding, dropping the teasing smile she'd been wearing in favour of a blank, slightly disgusted expression, demonstrative of her true feelings for me, "you are correct, of course." She said plainly, "but why bring it up now?"

I sighed, "you're getting on my nerves," I told her honestly, "and I need you to try and be just a little helpful here, no matter how much you dislike me. For James, you know."

She grinned, her eyes twinkling, and I was reminded that she was actually very pretty. "I shall sort this out." she said, tossing her hair, and strode off toward the tree where we always sat.

Was it possibly that my attempt to gain her cooperation through plain-speak had backfired? What was she doing. I sensed that this whole venture was spiraling off into a bad, _bad_ direction and made to go after her.

Unfortunately, I had decided to be impressive and walk backwards so as to keep looking at Dahlquist, and consequently, I walked straight into Bella.

"Ah." I said, when I saw her black brows crash together in fury, "Bella."

"Watch it, Bla..blood traitor."

The corner of my mouth quirked up at her almost faux pas, but I forced it down again. Bella and I were not on good terms.

"My apologies," I said mockingly, then noticing her friends behind her, I smiled charmingly, "ladies." I greeted them, before walking away.

I could _feel_ her eyes boring into my back.

Of course, by the time I reached the tree, Dahlquist was already there, speaking rapidly and punctuating her stream of words with elegant and sharp hand gestures.

James' face was a shade of grey that can only be described as truly unhealthy.

"What's going on?" I asked, jogging slightly to arrive before James threw up.

Dahlquist ignored me, "she does not like conceited people, Potter, therefore, she does not like you."

"Ouch," I commented jocularly.

Without missing a beat, Dahlquist tacked on, "or Black."

I clutched my chest with an exaggerated stagger backwards, as though she'd stabbed me.

"My heart," I whispered, and Peter laughed.

Dahlquist rolled her eyes and got slowly to her feet. "You bore me." she announced calmly, eyes passing over us all with a disdainful sweep. Remus met her gaze evenly, and to my surprise, Dahlquist smiled slightly.

"I do not understand why you stay with them." she told him with a puzzled frown, "when they are so..." her hands waved vaguely in the air, as though she were trying to pluck the appropriate word from the atmosphere. Apparently, we were so very disgusting that she could not think of a word which quite encompassed our awfulness, and so she let her hands fall to her sides and gave a defeated little shrug.

Remus smiled, "they're my friends, Aurelie," he told her, "I _like_ being around them."

"That is _exactly_ what I don't understand." she told him honestly, before turning to me with a malicious little smile on her face, "I'll tell Simone 'hello' from you," she promised, and without another word, glided off back to her giggling friends.

The hate I held for Aurelie Dahlquist was beginning to reach a ridiculous intensity. I clenched my fists and prayed to God that at the very least, this 'Simone' who apparently had my heart was attractive. But my hopes were not high. How could anybody be attractive in the slightest if they spent their time with _Dahlquist._

And that thought sparked a memory in me- a little thing which had happened just an instant before, but it was incredibly significant. And so my gaze turned to Remus, whom I watched with a scrutiny to which he appeared oblivious, still happily reading his book.

He had called her Aurelie. Not Dahlquist, but Aurelie. As though they _knew_ each other. As though her very presence didn't actually disgust him. I decided I would wait for James to ask the appropriate question.

"Since when were you so matey with Dahlquist?"

He never let me down.

Remus shrugged the question off, returning to his book with a sigh, and James frowned at his lack of answer. However, no one thing could ever keep James concerned for too long, and in bare moments he was grinning at us all once more. "Full moon next week."

I smiled, already feeling the ground slipping away beneath my feet as I loped across the ground, already felt the wind ruffle my fur and my tongue loll from my mouth.

James wore a similar expression, and Peter was staring dreamily at the forest.

But by our side, Remus looked up at the sky, and shuddered.

…..

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	5. Chapter 5

I am so very sorry, mysterious somebody.

I read back over what I have written and find that it makes no sense. The stories I tell, strange scenes from my life, appear plucked out at random. The descriptions are abrupt, as though I were racing through the tale in my eagerness to get on to the next one.

Perhaps this is what is actually happening.

Admittedly, as soon as I touch my quill to the parchment I think of the story I am going to write next, my mind skipping ahead in leaps and jumps, eagerly flying through my life.

And yet, so little is being told.

I haven't told you about the time that James and I cursed a fellow student who was afraid of heights, changing their perception so that they saw everything as though from high about our heads.

Or about the time that we cast a mass disillusionment and silencing charm on the first years, sparking an uproar as the teachers searched desperately for the lost 11year olds, all of whom sat patiently in their classrooms, too scared to go and check where their teachers had gone.

Or about the first time I kissed a girl, or about the first time I broke a girl's heart.

But I suppose, seeing as I don't actually remember those particular events at all, it would be somewhat odd of me to relate them to you.

Mysterious somebody, I grow selfish in my writings. I no longer seem to write for you, but for me.

I am allowing myself to be open to the memories. I am allowing them to flow through me. I stop nothing, filter out nothing. The memories I see are the ones which I write down, and so I guess that explains the odd assortment of tales you are reading.

You are reading whatever I remembered at the time, whatever insignificant and unrelated vision of the past my sorry old mind dredged up.

Ah well.

I have always been unfailingly selfish, mysterious somebody, and I am feeling so much more human now, as I write this than have in so very many years. And so, you will read what I write or not read it at all.

No doubt it is the latter.

No doubt.

God. Tonks has arrived. You can always tell that it's Tonks, because nobody else can rouse my mother with such ease, and nobody else can irk her enough to produce such a cacophony shrieks and groans. Tonks alone can _truly_ evoke my mother's full rage. I can almost hear her apologizing beneath dear old mother's heart felt curses.

Tonks. Who else?

Ah. And now those sounds are causing some memories you have yet to hear to float to the surface.

Memories from a subject I had been studiously avoiding.

After all, who says I shouldn't be able to edit my own life?

...

"Sirius Black! You will _unpack_ that suitcase and take off your coat _this instant_! Then you will proceed downstairs and we will discuss the punishment you shall receive for your impertinent behaviour!"

Her long bony finger slashed its way into a 90degree angle to her body, directing me in her preferred direction in a manner as rigid as a signpost.

And she was my signpost.

But while some would read her as pointing toward salvation and redemption, to me my mother spelled out.

_Wrong Turn. Dead End. STAY AWAY!_

"Sirius!" Her curt tone did not allow me to think that she was addressing me with a question. Rather she was addressing me like one does the family dog when it pees on the sofa. With ownership, command, fury, and a complete surety of being obeyed.

I loved to tear people's secure worlds to shreds. And I had most definitely _not_ peed on the sofa.

I met my mother's eyes and slowly, calmly and with no trace of emotion, I zipped my suitcase shut,

Her nostrils flared, "how _dare_ you!" she demanded. It was again not a question.

"Master is not a good boy, not like Master Regulus. Master is a bad boy to disobey his glorious mother. Master Sirius will be punished. Master Sirius will feel pain."

I shuddered slightly at the words, and directed my glare down the hideous head which was poking out from behind my mother's robes.

"Out, Kreacher." I told him sternly, "get your sniveling self _away_ from my things." He didn't move, "dear lord, get _out of my room!_"

Kreacher's twisted features mangled their way into a sneer.

"This space is a Bad space," he muttered, "my poor mistress, to have this bad space in her house. The bad space with its muggle whores and its ugly great muggle machines and its ugly banners with garish red and gold. This place does not belong in the house of Black. This Master does not belong in the house of Black. He should take his space and go from my poor mistress. Master should leave her in peace."

I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder and bent down, "that is exactly," I told him with a grin, "what I am about to do."

My mother gave a sharp intake of breath, and with a sudden flare of red rage, kicked Kreacher away from her. He yelped and retreated.

"Sirius Black, this has gone far enough. Your pathetic act of _rebellion_, so called, is getting tiresome." He lip curled in distaste. "You may find it _amusing_ to spit all over your heritage, but you cannot escape it. You still act like a Black, you still are a Black. It is time for this foolishness to stop."

I laughed humourlessly at her speech, "by _foolishness_ and _rebellion_, do you mean the last five years? Since I was sorted into Gryffindor? Is that what you mean?" she stiffened, confronted with the one thing she could not explain away, and I laughed again, "mother, you don't understand. This is not rebellion and it is not silliness. This-" I waved my free arm around my room, "is the _actual_ me. Not some charade I'm putting on for amusement. This is truly _me_." She stared at me, blank faced, and I shook my head in disbelief. "You really can't process that, can you?"

She said nothing, just stood in the doorway, straight, tall, imperious and proud. A dynasty was conveyed in the set of her shoulders and the tilt of her chin.

You cold see it in her now hardened beauty, in the fine lines around her eyes and mouth which betrayed her age.

A dynasty that was dying out, but going down fighting. That is what she was.

I hated her.

"Move." I told her. She stood still, "move!" I insisted.

She ignored me, "you will now unpack your bag and return your coat to the rack downstairs." She intoned calmly, but with rage simmering beneath her blank delivery. "You will then return to this room and stay here for three days, thinking about what you have said. You will spend this time removing these _horrendous_ banners and posters. You will cleanse your room of this...this..._muggle_ contamination." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath through, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "And then, you will come downstairs again, and apologise to your father and to me for your pitiful and insignificant attempt to break away from your duties as a Black."

I met her eyes stonily. She said nothing, did nothing, and I realized that she really was unable to accept that she couldn't win this one. And it was sad, truly, truly sad. Some part of me was surely upset by the fact that she'd rather lose me than compromise, but my reaction was not one of sadness. Instead of answering her, I laughed- a long, bitter, barking laugh, and then, deliberately and with no hesitation, I pushed past her and into the hallway, silently padding down the stairs with an extra lightness in my step.

Reg came out of his room, "where are you going?" he sneered at me, pushing his hair off his face.

I did not look at him, "I'm leaving this hell hole." Ignoring my mother's descent, I sauntered toward the door, unhooking my scarf from the hideous hat stand with glee and throwing it around my neck. It was just an extra insult to my family that I would leave in muggle clothes. Besides, robes would not be widely appreciated on the tube.

Reg's face turned even paler than normal, "what?" he asked, snobbish, superior demeanour gone, "but, but where would you go?"

"James." was my simple answer, and suddenly I was annoyed by his questions, "it's not like it's your business anyway, and believe me, you won't even notice I'm gone." I glared back up at my mother, "except maybe that the air will be cleaner without my muggle-loving presence stinking the place up."

Reg looked as though I'd punched him. He opened his mouth weakly, as though to speak, but by that time, Mother was down the stairs.

"Sirius Black!" she snapped, "you _will_ move your pathetic blood traitor self back up these stairs." Her composure, through all of this, had not wavered. She was angry, yes. Furious? Yes. But dignified? _Always._ "This has gone far enough."

I scoffed, "again I ask, what do you mean by 'this'? I'm not your minion, mother, and I am not a 'good' boy just going through a phase." Her nostrils flared with rage, but I was not yet done. "And, most of all, and this is something you have never been able to accept; I am _not_ a Slytherin. I am Gryffindor and I always bloody well will be. I am _nothing_ to do with you." I hefted my bag further up my shoulder and turned to face the door. "All I have in common with this family is looks."

My mother's eyes gleamed as I spoke, and one hand clutched angrily at the banister. Kreacher lurked behind her on the stairs, expression one of utmost loathing.

"Well, Sirius," she said calmly, though she gripped the banister so hard her knuckles went white, "your ability to delude yourself is most certainly _not_ from the Black line. You may pretend that you are a Gryffindor, you may pretend that you are not pure, but blood tells, and yours is as Black as it comes. You think your friends _trust_ you?" my mother asked me, mouth twisted downwards in a sneer, "They don't even like you. They stay by you because they _respect _and _fear_ your blood. Why would they truly like you, anyway? Why would anyone? You have no redeeming features, no talents. You are a squirming, devious, deceitful, pretentious, arrogant child." A smile ghosted across her face, "and what's more, my son," she said softly, "you _know_ it."

Her words hit home and I felt a chill seep through me, "I don't need to listen to this crap," I told her icily, the cold in my bones evident in the tone of my voice. I hoisted my bag up a little on my shoulder and turned back to the door, pulling it open.

"I would think before you left, ungrateful brat," my mother's voice screeched from behind me as her calm demeanour finally cracked, "if you do, you will never be forgiven. You are not indispensable, you know."

I paused momentarily, and turned around.

My mother still stood on the first step, scratching chunks out of the banister with her fingernails. Behind her, Kreacher watched me, black eyes glinting. On the stairs, Reg's face was a white mask with dark cutouts for eyes and a mouth. He was unnaturally pale, and clutched at the banister more for support than in anger.

Instinctively, my eyes travelled back to my mother. Her own had taken on the gleam of triumph. There she was- the strong, proud, unwavering woman who'd raised me. The woman who would refuse my hugs and cared not a thing for my drawings. The woman who disdained my choice in friends, my marks.

The woman who'd sat by my side while I was ill, and later pretended it had been a house elf. The woman who checked on me every night I stayed at home, as though worried I'd run off.

Was it love, if you were too afraid to express it? Was it love if it came and went in the blink of an eye?

Was this anger fuelled by fear for her reputation, or by fear of losing me?

I hesitated before opening my mouth slowly to speak, and she snarled, "think of your family, Sirius," she intoned, "think of the house of Black. What will society say?"

Well, that decided that, then. "Well, Bye." I told them nonchalantly, and stepping outside, I slammed the door behind me.

...

That memory has left a sour taste in my mouth.

I ran to James that summer, and, true to her word, my mother never did forgive me for choosing a blood traitor Gryffindor family over my own.

Reg would never forgive me either.

But then, I no longer needed them. I had a brother in James, another in Remus, and I had always regarded mothers as rather overrated. I was entirely content.

Now, looking back, I do wonder if perhaps all the happiness I had been allocated in life was used up in those days, when I had no mother looking over my shoulder and friends I could trust at my back. It must be said that I never had such pure, unadulterated happiness ever again. From then on, any sense of joy I had was always tainted or corrupted, or so brief that if felt like a dream. Or, and this was common, vivid and exciting, but followed by despair to match.

With James' family, and Remus and Peter by my sides, and a strong of girlfriends from here to eternity, those days were filled with easy contentment- everything seemed bathed in a golden glow. It was not exciting, or dramatic, but it was so very lovely.

No, never again after that enchanted time was I simply 'happy'.

I remember the year passing incredibly quickly, in a blur of girls, adventures and detentions. Detention was, however, a sort of adventure, because James and I could always be counted on to torture the supervising teacher until he or she ran from the room in exasperated despair. The year before, they had begun to place us in separate detentions, but that was easily remedied when James picked up a pair of enchanted mirrors at a witches' market in lower Surrey. These allowed us to keep in contact at all times, and while we were unable to torment our supervisors with quite the same level of quality troublemaking, we still managed to drive our individual teachers from the room at least once a week.

But I choose _not_ to regale you with the tales of my many exploits at Hogwarts. I have debated privately on the issue, and believe that, really, anyone can tell you about those. You can ask Molly, for instance, or Remus, quite obviously. Also, Professor Macgonnagal will probably have most of the stories committed to memory, seeing as she was, at the time, the newly promoted head of Gryffindor, and was forever being buried under complaints about us from other teachers, students and even civillians.

If you truly want _all_ the stories, and if you are brave like _she_ was, you should try Filch, who of course hated us intensely and took every single misdemeanour as a personal slight against him. He would know all.

But, it is them you will have to ask, because I have other things to tell you.

My next memory takes place perhaps in second term, right at the very end.

...

"And you seriously don't mind this?" James asked again and I laughed.

"Are you deaf, Prongs? I will be fine. I promise." I jammed my hands in my pockets and shot him a grin, "after all, there's not too much here that could hurt me, and there is plenty of havoc that can be wrought while the school is so...empty."

James' great aunt had died, and the Potters were required to travel to her homeland to attend the funeral. Which is why, rather than going home for the term break, they were spending it in Bulgaria. Now, as amusing as the idea of a Bulgarian Aunt was (James corrected it to _Great_ Bulgarian Aunt, which lead to _Whopping_ Great Bulgarian Aunt, which in turn became _Monstrous _Whopping Great Bulgarian Aunt, and so on) her death made my staying at the Potter's for the holidays impossible. Good natured as they were, the Potters fretted endlessly about this- should they take me with them? Could I stay home alone? Considering keeping me home alone, how much was I likely to break?... And so, in order to put them out of their misery, I had announced my decision to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. James, of course, was fraught with guilt.

"I could stay home..." he was saying now.

I shook my head, "she was your aunt, James. Your Absolutely Gigantic Monstrous Whopping Great Bulgarian Aunt! You can't just do a no-show at her _funeral_!" some nearby first years glanced back at us and tittered.

"I never met the woman." James exclaimed, "and frankly, she's dead. She can wait, but you're alive and therefore need more attention."

I laughed and pushed him onto the Hogwarts Express.

"Train's leaving," I told him sternly, and he laughed, giving me a sympathetic smile before running off to a cabin somewhere.

"Bye, Sirius." Remus gave me a friendly wave, and I felt a wave of regret at the damn coincidence which made staying with him equally impossible. The full moon occurred during the two week break, and though I was used to Remus' transformations, his parents still believed that his 'furry little problem' (so dubbed by James) was a secret, and so had refused me a place.

"Bye, mate. Have fun by yourself this time." I told him with a regretful shrug.

Remus grimaced sadly and clapped me on the back, "same goes for you, double." he whispered and I laughed.

Peter was standing behind me. His house was too small to fit me, and hardly a lot of fun at the best of times, with his elderly, finicky mother and her odd habits. "Bye, Sirius." he breathed and I grinned at him.

"Wormtail." I said, as succinct a farewell as is possible.

He nodded and scrambled onto the train.

I watched them all wave from the window and it filled me with a wave of overwhelming resentment, rising like bile in my throat. Everyone was going home.

"Excuse me, sorry," somebody said politely, and I moved out of the way to allow Lily Evans to haul her trunk up onto the train. With an unprecedented burst of gentlemanliness, I helped her lift it, pushing it inside for her. She eyed me with surprise, "thanks, Black." she said, her tone full of bemusement.

I smiled at her, and she jumped up onto the train herself. As she walked away, I impulsively called out to her, "hey, Evans!" She turned, looking at me over her shoulder, "have a good holiday, alright?"

She smiled at me, and I was reminded of why James had such a thing for her; she was gorgeous.

"Wow." she said with another grin, "you know, you're less of a jerk when Potter isn't around."

"Maybe I'm less of a jerk when you _are_ around." I suggested, and she laughed.

"No, that isn't it." There was an awkward silence as I noticed James watching us from the window, then Lily haltingly said, "well, I have to go and find a cabin now, so..." she shrugged.

That grabbed my attention. "Has Dahlquist died or something, that she hasn't saved you one?" I asked, dragging my gaze away from James, and frowning as I was reminded of the little French Bitch, so called, Lily's best friend.

Lily opened her mouth to reply.

"Ever the optimist, Black." Dahlquist had approached us silently, and slapped me with a familiar barrage of scorn, "but as yet, I remain in perfect health. Bad luck for you, I suppose." She paused for breath, taking a long drag from her cigarette and blowing the smoke into my face.

"Dahlquist." I said with a curt nod, "here to parade yourself, I see. The first years are certainly watching," I inclined my head and smiled, "paying _attention_. I know how you like that."

Dahlquist smiled sweetly at me, "I suppose you're spending the holiday with your lovely _family_, Black. How much they must relish your company." Secure in the knowledge that she had won, she turned now to her friend, "all ready, Lily?" she asked, her accent lilting prettily.

Lily nodded, her hair gleaming in the sunlight, "yes. All set."

"Right. Well, I have to talk to Yves now, so, I will see you." Dahlquist grinned, and opened her arms. Lily nodded, hugging her friend.

Girls, as I have previously observed, are very silly. A 10minute separation moved them almost to tears. Even the very bitchiest, like Dahlquist.

The object of my musings smiled one last time before gliding down to the next door along, where Yves DuMont leant against the train.

He was a sixth year Slytherin, French as well, and probably the person I hated most in the world- after Dahlquist, of course- which made their friendship a truly sickening spectacle. I have mentioned, I believe, that Dahlquist and I were horribly in sync in everything we did, and indeed, she was the individual most deservingly termed my equal, but it was DuMont whom everybody considered my competition. It was said that the poll for best looking male at Hogwarts was at a tie between DuMont and myself. Consider along with this that we were academically on par, and both regarded as 'favourites' by Slughorn. Did I mention that our mothers were best friends?

I hated the bastard.

"Disgusting." I said thoughtfully as I watched the two of them converse.

Lily smiled, "he's lovely to her," she told me, to my surprise, "and he's gorgeous, but I don't think she should be with someone as cold as him." I raised my eyebrow at her and she grinned, "oh, I know Lee comes across as disdainful and icy, but underneath it all, she's _such_ a raging lunatic of a spit fire. Yves isn't like that- he's just _cold_. None of that French passion that Lee has, you know?" Lily grinned again, sheepishly playing with the ends of her hair.

"Can't say I do," I told her in a tone of supreme disinterest, "me and 'Lee', aren't all that close."

That was an understatement of epic proportions. You perhaps wondered, mysterious somebody, if my relationship with Dahlquist mellowed out over the odd year which has passed in my memories since last you heard from her.

It did not. Our confessions of our of mutual loathing, far beyond the spectrum of usual dislike, had not served to give us any closure. Oh, we still amused people with our little fights, which seemed to be rather playful to most. But beneath those teasing smiles, and battles of wit, we had no tolerance for each other. Every word she said to me carried a careful barb designed to be noticed by me and me alone, and of course I was the same. She would refer to my family, I would refer to her sluttish behaviour. She would allude to my insecurities, I would hint at her desperation to be cool. Nobody seemed to notice that our insults, considered by most to be some sort of aggravated flirting, were always designed to hit too close to home. Bit by bit, word by word, we tore at each other's self esteem in an attempt to break through the casually elegant demeanour we both proudly maintained.

Perhaps people were right to think it was flirting- perhaps on some level it was, but even that was intended as little more than a mockery of each other. I could have slashed her in half on the street and left her to bleed. She would have stabbed me and twisted the knife with relish.

Pretty smiles or not, Dahlquist and I were consumed with loathing for each other, and however well we hid it, the constant barrage of attacks were wearing us down. But neither of us wished to stop. We had pinpointed each other's weaknesses and neither of us would stop until we tore the other to shreds. Even if it meant we would drag ourselves down on the way.

No, Dahlquist and I were not close.

Lily smiled at me, "yeah, I guess. But then, nobody's close with Lee. Not _really_." Her shrug said that she didn't care. Whether Dahlquist admitted it or not, they were the best of friends and she knew it, "goodbye, Sirius." And then she was gone, red hair swinging behind her as she skipped away. The train whistle blew incessantly, and I felt a keen sense of loss. My friends were gone.

"Oi! Sirius! Oi!"

I turned around to see James dangling out of the train window, mouth hanging open in a goofy smile. "James," I drawled, "I'm not sure if you realise this, being more likely to travel by broom than by rail, but when you are on a train, the idea is to stay _inside_ it."

He grinned in response. "Listen, I've figured out your mission for these holidays!" I raised my eyebrows, intrigued. Encouraged by my expression, he continued, "you could use this time to win that bet!"

"Huh?"

James rolled his eyes, "come on, man! You are the best with girls in our house. You could win that bet in two seconds flat, if you tried. And you have plenty of time to work on the girl. Dahlquist is as good as yours."

Understanding dawned on me. Not too long ago, a late night discussion amongst the boys in our year had led to the following observation; Dahlquist, easily one of the best looking girls in our year, had never actually snogged anyone her own age. She was a tease, naturally, and so many of my classmates had thought that they stood a chance, but she would always pull back at the last moment, eyes downcast, and an evil grin in place. "It's not you," she'd say, "it's_ me_."

Eventually, some bright spark had realized that the boys she humiliated were all guilty of doing the same sort of thing to Dahlquist's group of friends. She was like a hit woman. But even though the boys all knew that, they still fell for her flashing eyes, her pretty smile, and above all- that accent.

And they only recently, they realized that what they _needed_ was revenge.

So a bet had been drawn up. We'd each put in three Galleons. The first one of us to snog Dahlquist would take all the money. And considering the sheer number of students who'd participated, it was a fair amount of money.

I, mysterious somebody, also participated. I knew I didn't stand a chance. After all, we hated each other, but I had a reputation to maintain, and so I put on my show of bravado, and prayed that some other boy would be the one to take her down a peg, while telling myself that I wouldn't try, but if I _did,_ then I would be able to seduce her easily.

Little lies such as these are what keep our egos intact.

"Yeah, James," I said, "it might be a little difficult for me to work on that while she's at home and I'm at school."

Kissing Dahlquist would be lovely, if it were possible to separate her looks from her personality. But the two were unfortunately linked.

The train had already started to move off, but James –with trademark persistence- was calling something unintelligible out to me anyway.

"CAN'T HEAR YOU!" I shouted back, "HAVE A NICE TRIP."

James, still hanging half out the window, continued to laughingly attempt to communicate his message to me. I ignored him.

"_Loin d'un visage cher, tous les jours sont d'hiver_."

I looked over my shoulder at the sound of the pretty quote, so mockingly said. Dahlquist was smiling maliciously, eyes on the train as it departed, "away from a loved face, days are winter." she translated, "how ever will you and Potter survive away from each other?"

"Thanks for the translation," I drawled instinctively, "but it makes more sense to say 'away from a loved face, _all days_ are winter'."

She looked surprised at my elaboration, "_parlez vous francais_?" she asked.

"_Oui. _é_vidamment._" I answered. "Are you actually trying to say that I'm in love with James?"

"You may draw your own conclusions," she told me glancing off at the train, now a speck in the distance. "And your accent is atrocious."

I sighed, "oh, you disapprove. However will I cope?" As I turned away, ignoring her and watching the train speed off, I realized that something seemed well and truly…. Amiss. I wondered what it was, and the lack of knowledge irked me. I knew that it was something rather major...

I froze, stiffly turning to Dahlquist with a strangled expression. She met my gaze with a look of rather bored curiosity, if such a thing were possible. It was as though she knew she _had_ to ask what had shocked me, but she didn't really give a shit.

"Dahlquist," I asked haltingly, "aren't you on the train?"

She arched an eyebrow, " _that _train?" she asked, "The Hogwarts Express?" I nodded dumbly, and Dahlquist clicked her tongue in exasperation, "you're asking me," she said slowly, "if I am on _that_ train?"

I realized why she seemed so completely bewildered by the urgency of my question, and I amended, "oh, grow up, Dahlquist," I snapped. The lack of an audience meant that even the slightest pretence of civility was unnecessary. We could hate each other freely here, "you know what I'm asking you- _why_ aren't you on that train?"

She rolled her eyes, "I think you know." she intoned, not bothering to tack on any sarcasm or wit without our audience. Instead, she seemed determined to waste as little breath talking to me as possible.

"Just say it, would you?" I snapped, "my brain literally _refuses_ to process this."

Dahlquist had begun to walk off, and her shoulders stiffened as I called her back. With a sigh, she spun around to face me, face devoid of all emotion, "I'm staying here for the holidays." She enunciated slowly.

And suddenly James' comments made sense. This was relatively momentous, considering James' track record.

I wished he could have made sense about something else.

My frustration peaked when she had already walked quite a distance away. With a growl I shot a curse at her, exploding the turf in front of her and showering her with dirt and grass.

"Dahlquist," I bellowed, and she turned around, languidly tapping her cigarette to shake the dirt off of it before she took another drag, "I bloody well _hate_ you, Dahlquist," I shouted at her, "I bloody well _hate_ you."

She threw back her head and laughed, "I hate you, too." She said, finally, and I felt my blood boil, "and you know why we feel this way, don't you?" I could practically taste her disdain. She chuckled again, lifting the cigarette to her lips once more before throwing it to the ground and grinding it into the paving stones.

She was going to make me say it, "I don't know, Dahlquist." I snapped, "I really don't. Enlighten me."

Her grin was manic, and quick as a flash, she flicked her wand, and I was instantly drenched in muddy water from the puddle by my side, "because," she drawled, "we are _exactly_ alike- mirror images of each other. And we _hate_ ourselves."

….

We avoided each other for the next two weeks.

It was easy enough to do. The school grounds are huge, and we were in different houses, with different habits. We saw each other only at meals, and sometimes not even then. Our days would fall into a patter- I would wake up early in the morning, secure in the knowledge that Dahlquist invariably wouldn't stumble downstairs before 11o'clock. She was not a morning person. She once came down to breakfast as I was sitting down to lunch, her hair a messy mop of curls atop her head, her eyes bleary, as though 14hours of sleep had not quite been enough. She looked entirely adorable and I loathed her presence.

But aside from that one, brief encounter, we did not cross paths for almost the entire holidays, or if we did, we ignored each other so thoroughly that it could hardly count.

And so, it was simply bad luck which, on the last Saturday before the term began, brought us together in the great hall at the same time, and worse luck which delivered Slughorn into our presence before we could retreat into our respective holes.

"Ah, the brilliant duo; Dahlquist and Black."

Across the table, Dahlquist winced slightly, evidently irritated by his labeling us a pair. She squinted in the morning light, running a hand through the snarls of tangles which curled around her face before smiling tightly at the professor.

"Enjoying yourselves?" he asked cheerfully, oblivious to our rather obvious discomfort.

I nodded bleakly and Dahlquist buried her face in her coffee.

"Good. Good." Slughorn gave us a rather conspiratorial smile. "I knew the two of you were here for holidays, you know." I made a politely interested noise. Dahlquist poured herself more coffee. Slughorn continued to smile, "to be at school during the holidays must be an awful thing for two energetic children such as yourselves." I nodded in agreement, and Dahlquist managed not to thump her head against the table in exasperation, "spending your time with nobody but the books and the teachers for company…." The irony of this statement seemed lost on Slughorn, but Dahlquist's lips curved into a tired smile, "I wonder- have you been occupying yourselves with school work?"

We answered, simultaneously, that we had not, as it was holidays.

Slughorn seemed overjoyed by our answer, "well, how fortuitous!" he exclaimed so loudly that Dahlquist, who had been nodding off to sleep again, woke with a start and spilled coffee all over me. I hissed and threw my orange juice in her face. Slughorn remained oblivious. "I was so hoping you'd say that," he grinned, "you see, I'd rather hoped that you would be able to assist me with a little potions experiment, and seeing as you are so perfectly at liberty.."

It was far too early in the morning for me to be any use as a liar, but I tried. "Oh, professor. It's a great thought, but I don't know if I can." I told him, my features sliding effortlessly into an expression of regret.

Slughorn's flabby face seemed to mirror mine, "why not, Mr Black?" he asked, sounding genuinely crushed.

_Good question_ I thought, brain spinning in confusion. "Because, when I said I hadn't been doing much school work, I was telling you the truth." I gave a sheepish grin, "I haven't done any at all, and now my homework has just mounted up like you wouldn't believe."

Dahlquist, evidently so rendered so completely pathetic by lack of sleep that she couldn't even muster up a contemptuous sneer, was eyeing me with a combination of respect and resentment. I smiled at her; how would she get out of this?

"Miss Dahlquist!" Slughorn turned his sights on her, and she winced at the sound of his voice, pulling out a cigarette, "I know that you're not one to fall behind in class," I almost scoffed at that. Dahlquist never did homework until the class it was due in had almost finished, "you could help me."

I could practically see the wheels in her devious brain turning; sluggishly, no doubt because of the early hour. She was trapped and she knew it. But even as this thought crossed my mind, she took a thoughtful drag of her cigarette and her eyes lit up. I felt disappointment sink in; she had thought of something. With a rueful smile, she turned to Slughorn, "I would, Professor" she said sweetly, "unfortunately, Black here has already commandeered me for this afternoon. I am...helping him with his transfiguration essay. I've already finished mine, you see, so I promised him I would check over his...and you know Black, that may take a while."

I mustered a stiff smile, "oh, no, Dahlquist." I said cheerfully, "I wouldn't want to keep you from Professor Slughorn, I know how you _love_ older men- I'll be just fine!"

Slughorn beamed at my stoicism and turned back to Dahlquist. But she, being an evil genius, ignored him, instead reaching over and taking my hand in hers, "I _know_ that your difficulties with 'learning things' _embarrass_ you, Black," she told me earnestly, staring deep into my eyes, "I know you don't want people to know. But I swore to myself that I would help you, no matter how much you resisted."

"Doesn't take a hell of a lot of willpower to resist _your_ charms, Dahlquist." I snarled under my breath, but she just grinned and threw her cigarette to the side, grasping my other hand as well, "and I swear to you now," she continued solemnly, "I _will_ teach you how to read."

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant. Oh, look. It's Sirius Black, the illiterate idiot.

She was such a bitch.

Behind us, Slughorn cleared his throat awkwardly, "Mr Black, I…"

"Please, professor," Dahlquist whispered, eyes wide with 'shock', "I'd forgotten you were there- _please_ don't say anything- he wants to do this on his own…" she considered, "with me helping, so I'll be busy all day," she tacked on quickly.

Slughorn grinned at us both, joviality reinstated. "ah, you two. Young love at its best."

Dahlquist frowned, as though confused. "Love? What do you mean 'love'? I don't understand... "

_Crap_ I thought, _you just like making people feel awkward._

Slughorn looked awkward alright. He flushed beet red and looked down at his hands, "yes, well. Black will explain. You two have fun, er_.. studying_." This accompanied with a sympathetic look in my direction. Poor illiterate me. "I'll keep an eye out for you both, give you a hand if you need." Our triumphant smiles fell slightly as he said that, but we both waved as he toddled off.

When he was gone, we looked at each other with resignation. My face was stained brown from Dahlquist's coffee, and her hair was dripping with orange juice, and we'd just spent the past 10minutes insulting each other. There was a hell of a lot we could have said, but we both knew that none of it was important. What we had to worry about was the issue at hand.

"I was planning on exploring," I told her.

"I was going to go down to Hogsmeade." she replied evenly.

We both sighed.

"And now," Dahlquist said, tapping her fingers on the table top, "we must stay together, in plain sight."

There was a silence as we both processed this. Slughorn had unwittingly made us allies, and so, with great regret, we attempted civility.

"You try and seduce me like you do the others and I'll hex you," Dahlquist sighed plainly, and I shrugged.

"I was going to say the same to you." Was my answer as I thumped my head down on the table. There was a long pause as we considered the long, _long_ day before us. "The lake?" I suggested finally. "The weather's alright today, we could study there." She didn't answer, "oh, come on, Dahlquist," I snapped, "I don't like this any more than you, but we're in the situation now- we need to grow up and get on with it."

Dahlquist cocked her head to one side, examining me, "alright," she said, resignedly, "the lake it is.

...

For a bitch, she was surprisingly good company.

At least, she shut up, reading a book just an armslength away, leaning over my own artistically arranged scraps of parchment whenever Slughorn approached, often jabbing her finger at a particular spot on the blank sheets, and saying things like.

"There is an ink stain. Right here. Did you know?" or, "is he still watching?". And once, when Slughorn was within earshot, even "no, _no_, Black. 'A' is for _apple_. 'B' is for…."

"Bitch?" I'd suggested as Slughorn walked away.

Other than that, for several hours we did not talk.

Of course, the tension was still there. I couldn't quite focus on anything I was doing, because I could _feel_ the energy between us, snapping back and forth like some weird whirlwind of passionate hate. She was the same. Every now and then, we'd look up simultaneously and meet each other's eyes. We never smiled, when that happened, merely held the gaze for a long, tense moment before looking away at the exact same time.

Eventually, I began to forget that she was there, except for those few, intense staring matches between us. She read her book and I did my work, and the only sounds were the flick as she turned the pages and the scratching of my quill against the parchment. It lulled me into a state of relaxation.

Later on, while I was actually writing the aforementioned transfiguration essay, I realised that I had no idea what I was talking about. "Do you get this?" I asked, forgetting whom I was with. Dahlquist looked up at me in surprise, one eyebrow raised.

Apparently my 'state of relaxation' had become an infinitely more dangerous and unexpected _comfortableness_ with Dahlquist's presence. Luckily, her attention had brought with it that old, tense energy, and I felt myself wake up.

"Excuse me?" she asked, voice dark but curious despite itself.

I told her not to worry, that I was thinking out loud, but she continued to demand an explanation.

In short, mysterious somebody, because the sun is rising now and I must write quickly, Aurelie Dahlquist did actually end up helping me write my essay. Grudgingly, of course.

And it was uncomfortable, and fraught with tension. One comment from her and I would fly into a defensive rage. A single snarky remark from me and she would throw a veritable temper tantrum. I tore her book in half. She slapped me across the face. I called her a whore. She kicked me in the balls. I pushed her in the lake. She set my notes on fire.

But eventually, the essay was written.

And I discovered then that she was smart. Very smart.

She understood most things, but rather than play up her intelligence, she would simply hoard the knowledge for a rainy day. Her grasp of the subjects only came out in her essays, which, she admitted snappishly, she would write in French and then translate with a spell. But she would never do as well as she could, I could see that. She resented authority too much to cooperate.

I had known she was good at spellwork, but her grasp of the theory and history was amazing. She loved history, she told me. That was how she and Lupin had gotten to know each other.

I told her that she was a nerd. She told me that I was a fool.

And then I helped her with her charms homework.

Another fight broke out and we refused to talk to each other. She stalked off to the other side of the lake and I climbed a tree and we glared at each other from yards away. But when Slughorn came to ask me if we were finished, we rushed back together and told him it'd been an experiment for Muggle Studies.

She edited my history essay with a typically superior smirk, until I pointed out that she was making grammatical errors, at which point she tore it in two and threw it into the lake. Half an hour later, the essay was dry and finished, and Dahlquist was lying beside me as I explained conjugations to her.

She surprised me, and the tumultuous experience that was our study session had me completely engrossed. It was so… unpredictable. She was such an insane bitch, and I knew I would have bruises tomorrow, and that my teachers would wonder why my homework was smudged and ripped, and I still really hated her, but I was _enjoying_ myself. Somehow. Then Slughorn approached.

"Do you children think you will be eating dinner today?" he asked jovially, bouncing towards us, "or will you be waiting til breakfast tomorrow?"

Dahlquist had been lying on her stomach, face resting between her palms, legs in the air with a pencil behind her ear and a fag between her lips, smiling happily. But upon Slughorn's arrival, she sat upright, seeming almost angry to be caught enjoying her study.

I watched her, and wondered why she hated all authority quite so much. I was no fan of it myself, but I lacked the loathing that Aurelie Dahlquist seemed to posses for it.

We ate dinner together, before returning to the lake, even though the sky was darkening and it would soon be too dark to be out. There followed a few awkward minutes after I sheepishly admitted that I had finished all of my homework- first time in my life that I would be able to hand everything up on time- and perhaps we would have gone our separate ways, except that Slughorn was _still_ watching us, and so Dahlquist sat herself down and pulled out a small flask of firewhiskey.

And there was something weirdly entrancing about her sitting there, staring at the sky and twirling a curl around her finger, even if I did still loathe her completely. And so I joined her, and after a few swigs of the firewhiskey and began to speak about a topic close to my heart: family.

...

When Dahlquist wasn't trying to make me feel like crap, she looked much prettier, I realized, taking another swig of firewhiskey as she pulled her hair back into a loose braid.

"You think it's difficult not living up to your family's expectations?" she asked with a frown, "try having lived up to them. It makes life hell."

I laughed at her. The alcohol had hit us both enough to make everything seem calmer and warm, but we weren't drunk. (And if I _ever_ hear that you were out drinking on school grounds, alone, at night and with a boy, I will be furious, mysterious somebody). "You didn't want to be in Slytherin?" I asked, and though my tone was flippant, I was genuinely curious as to her answer. Was she like me in this? Another lost and confused soul?

She looked thoughtful, a shadow crossing her eyes, "I don't know. I never really cared about it," she took a swig of the firewhiskey. "Perhaps it doesn't matter."

I felt scandalized, like she'd said a swear word in a church, "doesn't matter? Of course it matters! Slytherins are...well, they're snobs. And they're cruel- they always think about themselves."

"Sounds like you." she said, fixing those eyes on me.

She had me there. "Well, I guess that Slytherin is in my blood." I said hesitatingly. She arched her eyebrows, inviting elaboration, "because of my lineage...well, you know." I ran a hand through my hair, trying to put my logic into words. "The Blacks are one of the purest wizarding lines in history. And people who care about blood purity go into Slytherin. Which means that those qualities I named, which I got from my family, are similar to the qualities of a lot of pureblood families." She nodded, "and those pureblood families go into Slytherin- see?"

Dahlquist considered this for so long that I thought she was not going to comment on it. Her silence gave me too much time to think, and as I stared out at the lake I did my best to ignore the strangeness of the situation. I was sitting with Aurelie Dahlquist.

And we hadn't actually killed each other. Not yet, anyway. We hadn't even set anything on fire. Well, not in the last half hour.

"So you are saying that Slytherin is the house for purebloods?" she said haltingly, breaking into my reverie. Her accent was so thick that the words seemed mangled, and she looked silently out at the lake. Her accent, I'd noticed, seemed to get worse when she was suppressing any strong emotions. I wondered what it was that upset her about this conversation.

I mulled over this, "well..."

"Because purebloods aren't the only ones in Slytherin. There are mixed bloods in there as well." She flicked her hair out of her eyes.

I grinned, up for a debate, "oh yeah?" I said. "Name one."

"Severus Snape."

I laughed, "oh, sorry. I should have been more specific. Name one human."

Her eyes darkened, and she looked away from me, "Severus is more human than you give him credit for." she told me, "you hate him because he is, even without your blood, what you wish you could be, but can't. He believes in purebloods and blood pride, though he is half muggle. And you cannot believe in that, yet you are a Black. This is why you hate him. He is a good person."

Something in all of that struck a nerve, "you think I _wish_ I was like Severus?"

She met my gaze evenly, "I think you wish you thought like the rest of your family. Because you've spent your life not understanding them, and with them not understanding you. And fighting all the time? It's _hard_."

And then I understood. My voice lost its joking quality and I sat up straight, "you think I wish I was like my _family_."

Dahlquist brought the firewhiskey to her lips and took a quick swig, "of course you do."

My laugh was bitter, "oh, Dahlquist," I said darkly, "you don't know what the hell you're talking about."

Now she laughed, tossing back her head, "of course I do. You're a Black, but I'm a Dahlquist. We're in the same boat."

"Fuck off." I snapped suddenly, and she looked over at me as though mildly surprised, "we're not in the same boat. I'm _happy_ with who I am- you're the one who wants to be like the purebloods. Not me."

She rolled her eyes, "I'm not saying you're not happy with who you are," she said, bored, "I'm saying that you've thought, maybe not often but at _least_ once, that it would be easier –not _better_ just easier- just to be a typical Black. Like your brother." She sighed, "and that way, he wouldn't be alone."

I stood up, and she watched my movements lazily, "you know _nothing_." I hissed at her, "I'm not like them. I've _never_ been like them, or even wanted to be." Her eyes looked black in the darkness, but I could tell that she was calm. _I _was the agitated one, and that wasn't how it was supposed to be. When Dahlquist upset me, I upset her, and that was just the way it worked. So I struck out wildly in the hopes that she would lose her cool too, that she would feel pain just like me.

"You sure bring up my brother a lot, Dahlquist," I drawled, "and that I should spend more time with him."

"So?" she said guardedly, and I knew that I'd struck gold.

"So nothing." I answered with a smile, "but speaking of families, you got any siblings of your own?" she stiffened beside me, "any little brothers or sisters that you _abandoned_ to run around the continent?"

"No, I don't." she answered, her voice eerily quiet, "I don't _abandon_ my family. That's _your_ job."

I felt rage bubble up inside of me, "James is my family." I snarled at her, and she made a patronizing clucking noise, as though I were a child.

"Such a _Gryffindor_ sentiment." She laughed.

"Such a _Slytherin_ answer." I snapped, "and see _this_ right here is why they made different houses. Because people like us just don't get along."

She laughed again, "oh, Black. When are you going to stop denying it?" she leaned in close to me, hands on my shoulders, "you and I? We're the _same_."

I pulled away from her, "no we're _not_, Dahlquist." I shouted, "we're not. You're a _Slytherin_, you're cruel and bitchy. You seek out people's weaknesses and exploit them. You're prejudiced, like all Slytherins- you _hate_ anyone different to you."

She stood up, and I followed her lead, "cruel, am I?" she cried, "seek out people's weaknesses? Sounds a lot like _you_, Black. Sounds a hell of a lot like you." I pushed her away from me, and she laughed, "and you say _I'm _prejudiced? Have you listened to yourself?" Now she pushed me, and I shoved her hands away, "_Slytherins_ are like this," she mocked, "_Slytherins_ are like that. We Gryffindors would _never_ judge a person based on their families, but _all purebloods are bastards_!"

"That's not what I said." I argued, but she kept talking, gesticulating wildly and moving forwards so that I had to keep stepping backwards to avoid us crashing into each other.

"_Slytherins_ are all mean. _Slytherins_ are all purebloods. _All_ Slytherins are snobs. _All_ Slytherins are prejudiced- you idiot, Black! I'm best friends with a muggle-born!"

It was annoying me that she was right, "no, Dahlquist," I shouted, "no, listen here- there are distinct qualities that Slytherins have and that Gryffindors have," she waited for me to continue, hands on hips and a smirk on her face, "okay? So I'm not prejudiced and I'm not generalizing- I'm telling the truth! They have these houses because these qualities don't _mix_." I waved my arms around angrily, "that's why Slytherins and Gryffindors _always_ hate each other! It's bloody well established- it's not _prejudice_."

She glared across at me, and then, tossing her hair, she said, "très bien. If our houses don't mix, I'll get somebody _else_ to fix my grammar." And with that she turned on her heel and stormed off.

This made me irrationally angry, "oh, no! No, Dahlquist don't you _dare_ walk away from me." I snarled. But she ignored me, spinning around once more to flip me off. That infuriated me, "you right little cow." I shouted, grabbing her wrist. She squealed and tried to push me off, and I lost my balance falling down the hill that her constant moving had brought us to, and dragging her along with me.

I landed on top of her in an awkward heap, and she groaned., "oh shit." I said, "Dahlquist- you okay?" She punched me in the face. "bloody hell, Dahlquist," I swore, rubbing my nose, "you're insane, you know that?" but I was laughing, and she was laughing, and somehow we were staring at each other and saying nothing at all.

I noticed that she was smiling, and felt my own mouth curve into a grin. She laughed again, a little, and then sighed. "Look at those eyes," she murmured in French, "no wonder the girls go crazy for you." And my heart stopped. She scoffed at me, "idiot." She muttered, rolling around so that now she was lying on top of me.

I felt sort of cheated. And so, almost instinctively, I grabbed her forearms before she could stand up, "now just wait a minute, Aurelie," I said tetchily, "I..."

I didn't even notice that I'd said her name, but she must have. Because with a grin, she bent down, wild hair screening our faces, and kissed me.

...

"And then what?" Garth looked ready to cry with laughter, and I smiled slightly, playing up to the audience.

"What do you think?" I asked with a wink, and they all whooped with laughter, James loudest of all- expression one of intense pride.

"I _knew_ you could do it. Who else but our Black?"

Sitting outside potions lab, the Gryffindors huddled around James and I, laughing and grinning as the tale spun to a close. Behind us, the Slytherins lounged against the wall, scowling. We were speaking about one of their own, and they did not like it.

When James had wormed the story out of me, I had felt guilty. When he had regaled the entire common room with a dramatized version, I had wanted to die. Now that he had encouraged me to tell it myself, the guilt was dissipating, but as I looked up and met Remus' eyes, it returned full force.

He was staring at me as though he'd never seen me before. His expression when he looked on me, in the past _always_ indulgent, was one of disbelief, as though my callousness shocked him. It made me cringe a little. He _knew_ her. Remus knew that she would never have confided in me without trust. Would not have pounced on me in a fit of desire the way James had described.

And then there was silence in the dungeon. Complete and utter silence, like no teacher could ever command. No, this was the silence which came before a confrontation.

I would have turned around to look, but Remus' eyes had me locked. Of course, when even he turned to look, I knew it was something _big_.

"What's the bet she comes over here?" James whispered wickedly, and the Gryffindors laughed.

I looked up to the top of the stairs, a feeling of foreboding in the pit of my stomach. Of course.  
Aurelie's robes were today cinched in at the waist and stopping abruptly at her knees in a jaggedly cut hem. Her cloak had been obviously been thrown over the top in a rush, and it was slipping off of one shoulder. On most everybody else, it would have looked slapshod. On Aurelie it looked tearaway and glamorous. Her school shoes were high top sneakers and her hair had today been pulled back into a messy plait. Just like at the lake. I winced.

She looked gorgeous, and her eyes immediately sort out mine. With a smile at Lily, she descended. The room went quiet for a moment longer, and then the whispers started. Remus tensed, his every cell obviously wishing he could transform and tear his classmates to shreds.

I could tell when she knew what had happened. I could tell when she realized what I'd done. She did not break stride, and the smile never left her face, but her eyes flashed black, and the smile hardened into something vaguely malicious, and her stride lengthened, becoming more predatory.

And she walked up to me, and then, just as James was counting the gallons into his pocket, she paused by us, nodded at Remus, and walked on.

I felt a rush of confusion.

James frowned, watching her, "I don't understand," he said as she strode away, "where is she going?"

The answer was clear soon enough.

A dark shadow detached itself from the wall, stepping out to meet her, and Aurelie Dahlquist placed one hand on its chest and the other on the wall behind it and kissed it firmly on the mouth.

"She did not," James said quietly, "just make out with Yves DuMont right in front of you."

"She still _is _making out with DuMont," Peter put in helpfully.

She was, too, and let me tell you, mysterious somebody, that even after everything id said, that hurt a little. And then they were finished.

"How are you?" she asked in French.

I remembered her whispering to me in French before she left, "_bonjour."_ She'd said, her tone sweet and affectionate, "you idiot_"_

"Fine, Aurelie. And you? I heard something about you and Black." Yves had switched back to English, perhaps for the benefit of the audience.

Aurelie frowned, "oh," she said, also in English, "ignore that. Honestly, one little kiss, out of sympathy, and the world thinks you are in love. Besides I was dared to see if I could get him to kiss me." She snapped her fingers, "too easy."

Yves smiled at her, tucking a loose curl behind her ear, "and I am curious- they say he is a good kisser?"

She raised an eyebrow in apparent amusement. "Who does?" she asked.

Yves rolled his eyes, "the English girls. All of them love him. Say he is the _best_ kisser."

And then she laughed, mysterious somebody, threw her head back and laughed. A tinkling sound that filled the dungeons. "Really? _Mon dieu_! Such low standards. French girls- now they are _much_ more selective. They like a proper kiss."

Yves laughed softly, "really, _mon cherie_?"

"Really." Aureliee said with a devious smile. "Here, let me show you."

And she kissed him again.


	6. Chapter 6

I spoke to Harry yesterday, mysterious somebody.

He was very much excited about his little club, the DA. I asked for a list of the members, just off the top of his head.

Your name was not among them.

I know this because I specifically asked if you were a member, or even considered a potential candidate at all. Harry was confused by my interest in you. "How do you even remember her name?" he asked, "I mean, you knew her mother, but why would you still remember her first name?"

I had frowned slightly, "I _like_ the name Estelle."

"Ok, if you say so."

Harry had shrugged off my haphazard explanation as plausible and moved on to complaining about a teacher of his, and so I listened to him talk, the way all old people listen to the children of their friends; with wistfulness.

When you get older- and I _know_ that you don't want to think about it- you will know the feeling I had watching Harry speak. When he gave his strange, crinkled smile, I was reminded of James. When he ran a hand through his hair and sighed, I saw James.

It is odd, because you'd think that seeing such a vivid reminder of your youth would make you feel younger, but it makes me feel old and tired.

Like a Cleansweep 500 watching a Nimbus 2000 fly. Awkward. Bringing back old memories. Instilling envy….

But I should get down to it now. After all, time flies when I write, I see that now. And I have so little time.

…..

You may be able to guess that, as I entered my sixth year, my steady girlfriend was not Aurelie Dahlquist.

In fact, dear miss Dahlquist seemed of the opinion that, as her decision to trust me had resulted in a close brush with humiliation, she had the right to hate me even more.

Perhaps she did. She had opened up to me, but I had let her down. The guilt of that _did_ affect me a little, I won't lie, and whenever I saw her in the halls, I could never quite meet her eyes without thinking back to that night at the lake.

But I had a very clever way to distract myself from thoughts of Aurelie. A very clever way indeed.

Her name was Lily Evans.

Please, do not recoil in disgust or throw this away (if you have not already burnt it). Hear me out.

You are a teenager. If you look at all like your mother, then you will know all about boys. And, mysterious somebody, you will know that, teenage boys are ruled by the organ which hangs limply between their legs (however, if you are at all like your mother, you will have little experience with it hanging _limply_)

Lily Evans was very pretty, and she smiled a lot. She was intelligent, charming, modest and sweet. I have never seen anything quite as adorable as her when she was angry.

And, atop all of these many virtues, was the fact that her mother, father, cousins, sister, uncles, aunts and grandparents were _all_ muggles.

Can you think of anything more likely to irritate my parents than a muggle-born girlfriend?

I certainly couldn't.

I no longer lived at home or communicated at all with any of my relatives, I knew that they kept a close eye on me, and even a _suggestion_ that Lily and I were closer than acquaintances would shake up their precious world.

Did it matter that Lily Evans and I were barely seeing each other? Did it matter than I was out for little more than fun? Did it matter that it wasn't serious?

No. Of course it didn't.

A mud-blood Gryffindor, that was who Sirius Black was dating. A mud-blood Gryffindor.

…

"A mud-blood Gryffindor! What is _wrong_ with you?"

For the first conversation we had had in two years, this seemed a reasonable opening.

"Hello, Bella."

"Evans? _Lily_ Evans?"

"The very same," I affirmed, "how's dear Lestrange?"

The look I received was pure poison. "What do you think this is doing to your poor mother?" Bella asked, her eyes (my eyes) flashing furiously as she placed her hands firmly on her hips.

Seventeen year old Bella was very beautiful. Her hair was long, thick and black, coiling in sleek, loose curls down to the small of her back. Her grey eyes were heavy lidded, and her skin was very pale. You probably heard about her legendary beauty. The legendary 'Black' beauty. Apparently, all of our line possessed it in some amount, small or large. Some of us, however, seemed to posses it in oodles. Bella was one such. Without meaning to boast, I was another.

Andromeda, my eldest female cousin, was beautiful in a very similar way. But her beauty was, as my mother had continually pointed out, "not _typically_ Black." It must here be stated that Andromeda looked much like Bellatrix, but infinitely softer. Her hair fell in glossy curls, as did Bella's, but it was a shade of deep brown as opposed to darkest black. Her pale skin was rosier around the cheek area, and was also dotted (in a most undignified manner) with freckles. Her eyes were the same, but lit up in a different light and her mouth, the same, was always curved into a smile.

Bella's younger sister, Narcissa, was beautiful like her siblings, but she did not look at all Black, not by a long shot. Cool blue eyes, long pale blonde hair and skin even whiter than the rest of us, no one would have been able to tell they were related. Narcissa was also very sweet as a child, dedicated beyond all reason to her eldest sister.

Andromeda had that effect on people

Aware that my thoughts were wondering, I considered Bella's question, "truthfully?" I asked, "I'm hoping it will bring on heart attacks or strokes that leave her either dead or unable to communicate."

My cousin's lips pursed, "you are so cruel."

I grinned and pouted, as though wounded by her comments, "I am not. I am a lovely, warm person. To those I actually like…"

"You are Black, through and through, Sirius." She snapped, collapsing onto a nearby chair, "I don't know why it is that you won't admit it."

"If it is _any_ consolation," I told her, leaning forwards conspiratorially, a gleam in my eye, "I think the secret's out. Just the other day, Mcgonnagal referred to me as "Mr Black". She _knows_…."

"Stop being a clown." Bella snapped, searching my face for any sign of solemnity, and upon finding none, growled in frustration, "be serious!"

I laughed at her, and Bella, never one to be mocked, fumed for a second, then slapped me across the face.

…..

"Someone's enthusiastic," Lily said, pulling back from me, "had a bad day?"

"Nothing you can't fix" I told her, leaning in to kiss her again.

With a gentle smile she ducked out from under my arms and leant on the wall next to me, "what happened?"

I remembered Bella's face before she walked out. I remembered smiling at Narcissa as she stood in the Great Hall, and the look of disgust she'd given me. I remembered hearing that she was seeing one of the Malfoys, and remembered thinking she was far too young and sweet to be sucked into their world of pureblood marriage and arranged family alliances.

I remembered going to the common room, only to see James sitting in one of the chairs, to have him eagerly pull me over and tell me that he'd heard Lily was seeing another Gryffindor.

"Any ideas who?" he'd asked, looking almost desperate to hear me say no.

I sighed, and turned to the girl waiting for my answer.

"Nothing, nothing," I told Lily, "I'm just fine. A little worried about school work."

Even today, mysterious somebody, I'm not entirely sure why it was that I could never communicate to Lily the fierce battle I was engaged in with my family. Something always stopped me, in fact, to be truthful, the only person with whom I had communicated fully was Dahlquist, who had reminded me somehow of myself, and somehow managed to charm (or manipulate) me into speaking.

To her I'd spoken of the feeling of despair I got whenever I saw a member of my family. To her I'd described the sensation I associated with the Blacks; standing on the edge of a precipice, with a string tied around my waist as the only safety precaution, leaning inexorably forwards.

But with Lily, I could do no more than mock their obsession with being pureblood, and transform the epic battles between my mother, my cousins and myself into exaggerated comic routines, to dull the pain slightly. She had no idea that the pictures I painted of my relations were in fact caricatures.

And then there was James. We'd kept our relationship secret on his account, though Lily had been irked by this condition. But now that Bella knew, it was only a matter of time before James found out. And I didn't want him to find out, not at all.

Because the truth was, I wasn't serious about Lily. I didn't know why I'd gone after her at all, the obvious aside. There were a hundred pretty girls who I could have chased instead. There were dozens whom I would not even have needed to chase. So why her? Why James' Lily? It was cruel of me, and I was regretting it.

"Sirius, you can talk to me," Lily was saying, pushing her long red hair out of her eyes. Such pretty eyes.

And so I did what I do best, I pushed my misgivings to one side and focused on the moment. "I can think of other things I'd rather do to you," I told her with a mock snarl, and then I kissed her again.

…

"Has he heard?"

"I'm not sure, doesn't look like it, does it?"

"Well, he always looks like that, no matter what…."

"Oh, he's _gorgeous_…"

Finally, I grew tired of the whispered comments from the gaggle of Slytherin girls who'd been dogging my footsteps, and whirled around to face them. They quailed before me and I raised an eyebrow, shooting them a slow, devilish grin. "Problem, ladies?" I asked through gritted teeth, and they giggled, frightened, and ran away.

I was not in the mood. As I stalked up to the common room, another group of Slytherins stopped chatting at my approach, their eyes following me as I walked past.

"_Does he know yet?"_ someone whispered with reverence, and I stiffened, unwilling to turn around and be met with more pathetic half answers or evasive statements.

The corridor leading to the common room was quiet, with few people present, most of whom were Gryffindor anyway. None of my housemates seemed privy to any of the juicy information that all the Slytherins had a hold of, and so I felt infinitely more relaxed walking along there.

"Password?" the fat lady asked me with a coquettish smile.

I returned it, "well, aren't you looking lovely this evening!" I told her with a wink. She tittered, and I leant lazily against her frame with a devilish grin. "Going somewhere, are we?"

The fat lady smoothed down her dress, the thin cracks in the aged paint rippling with her movements, "just a gathering in that large landscape down the main hall," she told me with what appeared to be nonchalance, but as I watched she shot me a sidelong glance. "most everyone will be present."

"Quite the social butterfly," I sighed. "Well, you know I'll miss you. Alonium Versifales." The fat lady giggles and waved a pudgy hand, swinging herself open and admitting me into the common room.

An oasis of normality. It was late in the day, but from looking around at the condition of the room, I knew that the house elves had not yet gotten around to cleaning up after us. The Gryffindors were a messy bunch, in my day, and our common room was littered with lolly wrappers and discarded scraps of parchment. As I stepped through the portrait hole, an enchanted paper plane zoomed past, brushing through my hair. Anticipating more air traffic, I leant casually back, just in time to dodge a history textbook, which labouriously flapped its pages like wings, in hot pursuit of the plane.

"Sorry, Sirius!" somebody called, and I waved a hand in dismissal, watching as the history book clocked a 6th year on the head before flying out of the window. _Through_ the stained glass panels, mind.

Macgonnagal would not be pleased.

"Ah." I said with a sigh, "happy chaos." Olivia Fletcher winked at me from one of the arm chairs by the fire, patting the seat beside her with a suggestive little flounce, but I shook my head and pressed on.

"Sirius!" somebody bellowed, and I turned around to see one of James' quidditch groupies. "Got to ask you," he called, whipping out a quill, "does your brother favour the left or the right side? I'm supposed to be making some notes up for Potter, so he can be prepared for the match this Sunday….."

"Later, Martin." I said with a smile, "right now I need some butterbeer and a game of chess in front of the fire." My eyes flicked back to Olivia, who smiled. "And before you say it, we _do_ have butterbeer, I stocked up just yesterday, and James can't have drunk it all….."

"That all depends on how thirsty I was," James told me with a smile, clapping me across the shoulder. But his smile was tight, and the affectionate gesture seemed somewhat stiff, almost as though he were restraining himself from hitting me harder, "we need to talk in a bit," he told me, a clenched whisper in my ear.

"Sure, Prongs," I agreed easily, trying to catch his eye, "what have I done now?"

James made to answer, but then Remus was between us with a too-bright smile plastered across his features. I knew that smile- it meant he was worried. "Sirius!" He laughed loudly. "Where did you go this time?"

I smiled at him and emptied my pockets on the table. A veritable avalanche of sweets poured from my robes, littering the table and drawing the eye of all the Gryffindors, "I'm expecting my allowance today," I told Remus, "comes like clockwork, once a month. So I thought I'd spend what I had left from last time."

Perhaps you find it callous that I continued to live off of my parents. It was, a little. And I had often sent the money back. But my mother had responded to _that_ little show of pride with a stubborn refusal to accept the funds I returned to her, and our little mailing war got to ridiculous heights before I decided that it would be easier to simply accept the money…

And then spend it on my blood-traitor friends.

With that in mind, I gazed around at the wide eyes of my fellow housemates, bemused, "you can eat them, you know." I said, and they needed no further encouragement. They were on the sweets in a millisecond.

In the chaos, I turned back to James, "shall we go up, then? I don't think we'll be disturbed."

He nodded stiffly, and as he strode toward the stairs, I felt a hand grasp my shoulder.

Remus stood behind me, clutching a piece of parchment in his hand. "This came for you just before," he told me with a half smile, "probably from your relatives, just a heads up."

I smiled at him. He was a never-ending source of sense and logic and calm. Without his guidance and support, I would never make it through a single day. "Thanks, Remus," I stuffed the thing into my robes, "incidentally, do you know what James is upset about?"

Remus frowned, his golden eyes sombre with thought, "I don't know the specifics," he told me seriously, "he wasn't up for sharing; but I would say its pretty big, Sirius, judging from his expression. Have you done something to do with quidditch? No? Slytherin? OK, well, how about Evans? Something going on there?"

In that instant, I realised that Remus knew. His eyes were shaded with something dark, so that their colour had turned into a light caramel, and he looked up at me almost reprovingly. But how could he know? He who spent his life inside a book, how did he know?

I stood watching him for a seemingly endless period of time, feeling his eyes burning into me. The most irritating thing about Remus is that he alone of all the people I even knew could make me feel that I'd been bad, that I'd done something _wrong_. He was almost like a parent. You know, except that I actually _liked_ him.

"OK, Remus, thanks for your help." I said, moving up toward the stairs and away from those eyes. He watched me go, an expression of foreboding on his face as he stood, stock still amongst the hordes of students.

Our dormitory was fairly deserted. No one could be seen anywhere at all, and I was reasonably convinced that James wasn't there either, it was so quiet and still. "James?" I called. "James, mate, what is it?"

Suddenly a hand was around my throat, and someone pushed me into one of the four-poster beds which lined the dorm. Instinctively, I blasted my assailant off, only to see James at the receiving end of my spell.

"What is your _problem_?" I hissed, massaging my throat, and James glared up at me from the ground. Watching him, his chest heaving as he breathed, I sighed and leant down, offering a hand to help him up.

"Get _away_!" he said angrily, pulling himself to his feet. I was confused.

"What's the problem?" I asked, genuinely at a loss, hoping my hunch as to the reason of his outburst was incorrect.

"_What's the problem?_" he laughed bitterly. "Is that a serious question, Black? The _problem_ is you! You running around the place, _snogging_ my girl!"

"_Your _girl?" I asked, baffled, "what?"

"You know!" he snapped at me, "bloody hell, Sirius, you get _all_ the girls, why can't you just use one of them? Why did you have to go for _my _girl? It was just….I don't know…." He looked wildly around him, as though searching for an appropriate word, "malicious! Like you were pissed off at me and trying to get me back."

Something inside me roared in protest at the unfairness of that statement. But something _else_ inside of me, something darker, whispered in agreement.

_You were angry at him_, it said, _you were angry at him because it was all his fault…_

"Now, hang on a minute, James," I said slowly, "Lily isn't _your girl_. Man, she isn't even _my_ girl, but she's definitely not yours. And god, it isn't like she's an ugly cow or something, I'm going out with her because she's hot, and smart and nice. Is that a bloody crime, now?"

"You _knew_ I liked her, Black, so why couldn't you go out with another hot, smart, nice girl? There must be hundreds for you to choose from!" He was scowling now, and his glasses were askew. For once his hair was naturally messy, and his face was flushed with anger. He didn't know it, but he was echoing thoughts I'd already had, "I mean, have I _ever_ begrudged you your women? You always have them, have I ever _begrudged _you them? No! Never! I don't complain that you have all the girls after you, I don't tease you! I don't get pissed off when I point out a girl I think is alright and then the next week you snog her. But I'm complaining now, because you knew _full well_ that I liked Lily Evans, and you bloody went after her anyway, and that isn't right, Sirius. It just isn't right."

I considered his words.

He was right, in several ways. I did tend to go for the girls James pointed out. Strangely, I'd never noticed that tendency in myself before, yet it was there.

Was I being malicious? Did I do it to hurt him?

I didn't think so, it seemed too…

_Black_.

_But he hurt you_. The voice said again. _It was his idea, remember? It was his idea to talk to her. He _told_ you to talk to her and look what happened?_

I shook those thoughts from my head, unwilling or unable to reconcile what the loose strands of gibberish meant.

"What I just don't understand," James was saying quietly, "is why you couldn't leave just this one for me. Hey? I would do it for you."

"James…." I said softly, apologetically, but he'd already stormed off down the stairs.

I followed him.

The common room was a mess of red and gold as the students prepared for the quidditch match against Slytherin that weekend.

I fought my way through avid supporters and enthusiasts, chasing James' fast retreating head.

"Sirius," someone grabbed my arm; Lily.

"Not in the mood." I snarled, pushing her off of my with more anger than was necessary, "get lost."

Her face fell, "oh, so you got the message?" she asked, looking sympathetic, "I didn't realise it would affect you this much…."

"Of course it bloody would!" I bellowed at her, "what do you think, that I don't _care_ when he's upset… It 's just a huge mess…."

"Look, it may all turn out," Lily said with an encouraging smile, "I mean, it will be hard for them to get used to, but when love comes into it, there's no choice now, is there?"

I stared at her, speechless, "you think," I said softly, "that this is about _love_?"

She nodded, a looking confused even as she shot me a gentle smile. "What else could it be? What did you think it was?"

I searched my mind for an answer, "fun, I guess." I told her, "not love."

Lily rolled her eyes, "yeah, you'd ruin your life for fun, would you? That's such a typical thing for you to say."

I hissed. "Hey, look. No one's life is ruined, ok? This.." I waved my hands vaguely around me, "all of this is temporary. It will be forgiven….."

"Keep telling yourself that," Lily said, looking amused, "face it, Black, it's all over with them, at least."

I grabbed her by the robes, "Evans, this is over when I say its over. Don't think for a second that I'm in _love_ with you, because, if that's what the situation requires, _this_ is what's over. Friends over females, Evans. You're dumped."

And then I ran out.

….

I couldn't find James anywhere, so after a bit, I decided to collapse in the library, and during this subsequent collapse (it was, in the literal sense, a collapse), I felt something crackle in my pocket.

It was the letter.

_Sirius,_

It read, in my mother's handwriting.

_You must go to Bellatrix and Narcissa at once. This will not be borne, and they will need your strength. For once in your life, be a Black._

It was not signed off.

"Well that is massively cryptic," I muttered. I was not in the mood for puzzles, and why my mother, such a fan of practicality and plain speech, would stoop to writing such an unclear piece was beyond me. I leant back in my chair with a thoughtful frown on my face.

Why would she do that? Why be so cryptic- why not just come out with it? It could only be because that her tidings were too scandalous to be committed to paper.

Suddenly worried, I sprinted for the Slytherin corridor.

The dorms, as I am told you know, are in the dungeons, and whether it was the proximity to the lake or the sheer evil-ness of the Slytherins, the path to their dorms was bathed in eerie green light.

I knew the way there thanks to a brief fling from my third year, and as I strode down the long, and quite frankly creepy, corridor, I wondered whether or not it was odd that I'd been there before to visit a girl whose last name I did not know, rather than my family.

A sympathetic first year allowed me to come in behind her, all the while sneaking glances back at me. I felt like the prodigal son returned.

Perhaps it was the influence of my family, but there was something familiar about the Slytherin rooms. The cool elegance of the décor was so at odds with Gryffindor's comfortable and plush armchairs and cosy atmosphere. But it was not a bad place. And it wasn't as though it was any more uptight than Gryffindor. As I looked around, I saw that the far corner was occupied by a study group of 1st years, all lying on the ground. One of the boys was making a sailor hat out of his essay. Near the fireplace, a group of boys were running their hands over open flames conjured by their wands for the amusement of giggling girls. By the entrance, some 6th year girls were practicing levitating each other, while some opportunistic boys casually leant back to look up their skirts. A young boy over by the study tables reminded me so fiercely of Lupin that I had to stop myself from waving, and another group of friends laughingly took turns throwing Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans into each other's mouths.

It was just like any normal dorm, but as I stepped into the common room, the atmosphere turned electric. Dozens of heads turned my way, no longer fellow students, but _Slytherins,_ and shocked by the full brunt of their attention, I snapped into Black mode.

"Bellatrix?" I asked loftily.

To their credit, not one of the Slytherins jumped up in shock or tried to hoist me out. Summoning their own blue blood they simply looked down on me with bored distaste, as though my presence _was_ unwelcome, and it _was_ inconvenient and annoying, but it wasn't worth their time to deal with and so they would just soldier on through.

"The girls dorms," someone said finally (perhaps one of the boys near the fireplace) sounding much snootier than was strictly necessary. "With Sissy."

I waited, watching them watch me. What had happened? They all looked mildly disgusted, as though I had farted loudly in public, or perhaps confessed my dream was to become an award winning musical director. "Anyone going to take me up?" I asked scathingly.

There was a veritable influx of volunteers.

Not.

"This is ridiculous." I told the throng of stony-eyed teens, "I don't want to just _stand _here forever, and I've been told to speak to Bella." No one said a word, they all just stared, many of the gazes, I was surprised to see, laced with not their usual awe, but contempt.

But Black's reign at contempt.

I leant back against a wall, sighing and looking up at the clock, "I will wait for you to gather your wits. Someone _will_ take me up to the dorm."

Behind me, the door swung open and everybody's gazes shifted momentarily to the person entering. Then, apparently giving their seal of approval to the newcomer, they looked back to me.

I crumpled the letter in my hand, clenching it so hard I tore through the paper. "Listen," I said quietly, "I really do need to talk to Bella. It is important. Please, something has happened and I…."

"Oh, _mon dieu_! I'll take him up."

I turned around. Dahlquist stood behind me, hair in a loose knot at the base of her neck, eyes ringed with liner, robe somehow flattering, as per usual. Loose curls wafted around her face, making her appear less formidable, but despite her delicate beauty, she looked somehow even more rebellious today than normal.

Perhaps it was the eyeliner, which made her eyes the main feature of her face. I wondered if she'd made it smokey it like that on purpose, or if she'd smudged it during the course of the day.

It was perhaps the first time I'd met her eyes in months. They seemed bluer, somehow. But cold, too.

And suddenly, I felt a small tug inside of me, and that voice spoke up again _his fault_. The voice said, _it's his fault she looks at you like that._

I frowned, pushing those thoughts from my head, and focusing on the situation at hand.

"Lee! No! He doesn't belong up there! _She_ barely belongs up there" someone said, and Dahlquist stared them down, her sardonic smile enough to chill them to the bone. They stepped back. "Let's go, Black," was all she said, but she kept her eyes focused deliberately on the Slytherins the whole time.

Then she led me up to the common room.

"Why are you helping me?"

She looked straight ahead, "Lily wanted me to check if you were alright." She told me evenly, "incidentally, I think that your relationship is well and truly over now."

"Yes, it is. And I'm fine. Why are you helping me?"

Dahlquist stopped with a sigh, one foot poised on the next step, the other placed firmly on the step I stood on.

In the narrow staircase, I was intensely aware of her proximity, and memories of kissing her rushed to my mind. I kept my face blank and tried not to look at her mouth.

"I feel sorry for you," she told me, in all seriousness, "and I feel sorry for your cousin. And she needs your help."

"That all?" I asked, and she nodded, continuing her walk up to the girls dorm.

"That is all."

…..

Bella sat on the bed, her arms around Narcissa, who sobbed hopelessly into her sister's robes. As Aurelie entered, Bella looked up with an expression of gratitude, but, to my surprise, when I came in close behind her, Bella's expression turned resentful and suspicious. I did not know why.

"Have you heard, then?" Bella said quietly.

Aurelie made to leave, but as she retreated, Narcissa called out to her, and, with a sigh, she sat herself down on the bed beside my cousin.

"No," I admitted, "no one will tell me. What's going on?"

Bella looked down at the prostrate Narcissa and inclined her head to the neighbouring bed. I sat down on it and she disentangled herself from her sister. Aureliee quickly took her place, and Bella walked over and lowered herself down to sit beside me.

"It's a disgrace," she whispered in my ear, her voice low, and I felt a surprising shiver run down my spine, "it's…..Andromeda. Sirius, she's…" Bella took a quick breath, as though she were trying hard not to cry.

On the other bed, Narcissa let out a sob, and Aurelie pulled her into her arms easily, stroking her hair.

"Andromeda has…" Bella tried again and I felt a sense of dread at her inability to finish the question.

"What, Bella?" I asked desperately.

Bella looked like she was about to cry and I instinctively placed an arm around her shoulder. She leant into me, clutching my robes with her hands, and over her head, I exchanged a questioning look with Aurelie. She shook her head slightly, indicating Narcissa.

And then, as I felt a patch of wetness seep through my shirt, I realised that Bella was sobbing.

"Bella?" I asked, perplexed, but she just cried harder, "hey, Bella, what is going on?" I shot a desperate look at Aurelie, who looked at me like I was an idiot, and gave Narcissa's shoulder a light squeeze.

Copying her, I stroked Bella's shiny hair, making pointless crooning noises to quiet her. "We're a disgrace!" she sobbed, "a disgrace! You know, Lestrange wrote to me to tell me he'd heard, and….and…."

"Heard what?" I asked gently, "Bella, has something bad happened to Andi?"

And then the sobbing stopped, and Bella sat upright, glaring at me through red rimmed eyes.

"You know what's _happened_ to 'Andi'?" she practically spat, "she's ….._run off_! With a muggle born!"

I felt shocked, "what?" I asked.

"She eloped. Left a letter for mother and father and _eloped_. With a muggle born! Practically a _muggle_, everybody says- can barely do magic. Ted Tonks, his name is. They're married, and , and…." I thought she might cry again, but she swallowed her tears, "and she says she might be _pregnant_"

I couldn't help it, I hissed at the news.

"What?" I demanded, "no, there must be some mistake here. Andi would never….god, she _knows_ that that is going way too far. A _muggle-born_? What is wrong with her? We are one of the most pure blooded families in existence, and she chooses a ….."

I looked over Bella's head and my sentence faded into nothing, taking my rage along with it. Aurelie was looking at me with utter contempt. I had never seen anything like it in my life. The expression on her face suggested that I was a speck of particularly offensive shit on her shoes. She somehow made me feel like the stupidest dick in the whole world, as well as the most insignificant prick who ever lived.

It was silent in the dorm, other than the sounds of Sissy sobbing into Aurelie's robes. Bella had her face buried in my chest, and Sissy was in tears- it was like Aurelie and I were the only two people in the room, and for the first time in months, I could look at her without anybody speculating or gossiping. And so, I stared freely at Aurelie. She was so beautiful, and so full of contemptuousness that I felt like I was drowning.

And her contempt seemed to be catching. All of a sudden, I heard my own words echoing through my head and the disgust I felt turned from Andi to myself. How could I be so…..Black?

A low hiss brought me from me reverie. Bella, still encircled in my arms, had noticed the direction of my gaze and looked furious. Somehow, along the way, we had manoeuvred ourselves into a position more suited to lovers than to cousins. She was half sitting on my lap, her arms wrapped around me, and I held her close, stroking her hair.

What had seemed natural enough just moments before now appeared almost repulsive to me.

Bella stared up at me with red rimmed eyes and tear streaks down her cheeks. Her eyebrows had darted down into a frown as she searched my face for I'm not sure what, and her hair was smoothed down where I'd been stroking it.

She was beautiful, but something about her seemed slightly off. I suppose its like when you are holding an apple, and it feels wrong somehow. You don't know how you know, but you do know that that apple is going to taste slightly bad. Of course you tell yourself you're being silly, and that you should just eat the damn apple, which is, no doubt, a perfectly good example of a fruit.

But when you bite into it, you see that you were right; something was wrong with that damned apple, and the taste stays with you all day.

An almost rotten taste.

I pushed Bella away from me slightly, knowing exactly what it was that was wrong. The expression in her eyes, my eyes, was one I had never seen before. I didn't know quite what it was, but something in it scared me, and I think she knew that, because no sooner had I pushed her away then the expression was gone, replaced by a bewildered hurt.

"I will go now,"

The voice was very soft, but both Bella and I turned to Aureile as though she'd screamed at us.

"What? No, why?" this from Sissy, who was, after all, barely fourteen. You must understand, mysterious somebody, that to Bella and Sissy, Andie wasn't married- she was dead.

I hesitated for a moment before quietly saying, "I should leave too."

Bella's head whipped around with supernatural speed.

"What?"

"I should go." I repeated calmly.

Bella looked completely astounded. Then bewildered. Then betrayed. Then hurt. Then angry. "Back to your Gryffindor friends to boast that yet another Black has left the fold?" she intoned bitterly, and I put a hand on her shoulder. She pulled away.

There was an awkward silence.

"Bella," I said, breaking, "have you considered that perhaps this isn't such a bad thing? After all, she may be running away with a muggle born, but…." And then my voice trailed off, because, with Aureliee already having retreated down the stairs and away, I had no one left to check my pride, and again the disgust seeped over me.

Bella watched with half a smirk, though her tears softened the expression.

A muggle-born. _Practically_ a muggle, Bella had said. My beautiful, charming, intelligent cousin had eloped with a muggle. What was she thinking, choosing a life of such complete exile from her family? And what could she possibly _do_ with a muggle? Ride a horse? Mow the lawn?

And for what? Muggles don't possess the capacity to understand magic, so to live in her new husband's world, she would have to lie everybody around her, and suppress her nature to fit in. Besides, how could they match intellectually? She would be worlds ahead of him, and he would be jealous.

He would be coarse and crude, stupid at best, no doubt completely ill-mannered . He did not belong with Andi. Muggles were all very well and good, but not in the Black family.

Bella still watched me, her face blank, though still sporting listening tear trails down along her cheeks. Sissy watched me too, her face frozen in an expression of horror at my last words. Not knowing me as well as her sister did, she did not catch on to my change of heart.

"Alright," I said finally to my cousins, "here's what will have to happen. She will have to be brought back, convinced that she does not belong with this…muggle. You should both write to her, and we'll try and persuade her to see sense."

Bella nodded, "yes. We'll write. She's more likely to listen to us than to mother, we'll write."

I felt a sense of purpose flood me, "in the meantime, you both have to keep your heads held high. We can't just let the other families think that this one hiccup has brought us down, in fact, lets be disdainful of it. When someone says, 'a pity about your sister,' say something like, 'which one? Oh, Andi? Don't you worry, we aren't. This will of _course_ be sorted soon.'"

My cousins nodded, and I smiled at them.

"I'd better go now." I told Bella, "but you write those letters, and get Reg to write one too."

They agreed and I smiled at them briefly before turning to go back down the stairs.

On the landing, a hand grabbed my arm, pulling me back into the shadows.

Huge grey eyes stared at me from under a thick fringe of shiny black hair.

"Bella?" I asked.

She smiled at me, not moving her hand, "thank you, Sirius, I don't know what I would've done without your help."

I smiled at her, "Bella, its no…" But suddenly, her lips were brushing across mine, and the sentence was left hanging in the air. But the kiss was brief, and she was gone in a second.

Confused, I went back down the stairs and out of the common room before anyone could question me.

….

Back in the Gryffindor common room, I allowed the headache that had been threatening all night to set in. Thinking over the day's events, I felt an overwhelming sense of disgust at Andi's actions. What had she been thinking?

"You're back, Sirius."

"That I am, Remus."

Remus smiled at me, "and you're so vibrant tonight."

"Shut up." I snapped, but I was smiling.

"Hard day?" Remus asked politely.

"You don't even want to know." I sighed, knowing it was true.

"It's about to get harder," Remus was smiling at me, I could hear it in his voice, "because your family seems to have sent another letter.

A piece of paper wafted down into my lap, "thanks, Remus," I said dryly, "I really appreciate it. Really."

He left me to it, and I opened the seal in much the same manner as a man would mount the steps to the guillotine.

But its contents surprised me.

My mother's spindly, elegant handwriting was not present, nor was my aunt's elaborate and loopy scrawl.

Instead the page was covered in small, neat writing in a hand which was familiar to me, but that I had not seen for years.

It read:

_Dear Sirius_

_I don't know why I'm writing this to you, you probably have even less of a clue than I do. I suppose, though, that it's just my small attempt at some connection with my family. I thought I could just start anew, but I can't. Mostly, I think, because I want just someone to understand my actions, and you, the constantly agonized over Black sheep of the family (excuse the pun), seem like the one most likely to listen to me._

_God, where do I begin with this?_

_I met Ted Tonks almost two years ago. So I was 19 when I fell in love. He swept me right off my feet, Sirius, and I loved him right from the beginning. I really did._

_He's sweet and kind and loving, and I would never give him up. __Will __never give him up. And I don't see why I should have to, for a silly thing like what his parents did for a living._

_I was unsure at first, you know. Mother always warned us about muggle borns, and Sirius (you'll scoff at this) he's actually a Hufflepuff. Can you believe it? A Hufflepuff, after all _

_I told him about you, actually, and he said you sounded like fun._

_You'd like him, Sirius, I swear you would._

_So would the others, if they'd just give him a chance, but I know that they won't; their damn pride in their bloodline. It's all nothing but names and dates, Sirius, names and dates. So what if Arabella Black married Ebenezer Parkinson back in the 18th century? Why should the fact that our aunt's husband's daughter married into the Flammel family affect our relationships today? What do we care about a bunch of dead people? You are the only one who understands this, Sirius, and so I know I can trust you._

_I need a favour, because you see I'm not as strong as you. You severed all connections easily, you knew it was necessary so you just _did_ it, but while I know that I can't live without Ted, I still long to hear about Bella and Sissy. I miss them, and I worry about them._

_Bella tries so hard to be liked and respected by her peers that she's losing herself. She's fallen in with a really bad crowd, Sirius, and I want you to watch out for her. She's always had a soft spot for you, just keep an eye out, please._ _It's like a cult, what she's in, Lestrange's fault, of course. That boy is trouble._

_Sissy is sweet, but she doesn't stand up for herself enough. She follows me, usually, but I worry that with me being such a disgrace, she'll follow Bella, who's lost enough as is._

_Oh, listen to me, I sound like a mother hen…_

_I wish I could be there for them, but I cannot give up Ted, and I couldn't return unless I did._

_You are the only person left for me to turn to, the only one in our family not blinded by prejudice._

_I'll thank you now for the congratulations you're probably wanting to give me, seeing as the toll of rebels and runaways in the Black family has now risen to two. I can't wait to see what stunt you'll pull to regain your reputation as the worst Black in history._

_Thankyou and much love,_

_Andi._

_PS: Ted wants to write a short note._

Underneath this was a paragraph written in a hand which I did not know, a firm, slightly messy hand which printed easily across the page.

_Hello, Sirius._

_I just wanted to thank you for helping Andi like this. This whole thing with the family disowning her and all that has really been hard on her, and I'm worried about the poor thing. She's strong, you know, to stand by me and not give in, and I'll always be in her debt for it; she's had to give up so much more than me. I hear that that's due to you, she says without your example, she never would have found the courage._

_Keep yourself (and Narcissa and Bellatrix) safe, because I can't wait to meet you face to face,_

_The legendary Sirius Black, who inspired Andi with the strength to leave her home._

_Thank you, I owe you more than you'll ever know._

_Ted Tonks_

_(Happiest muggle-born alive)_

Happiest muggle-born alive?

I read over the third last word about fifty times.

_Muggle_.

It seemed so small, so insignificant and unimportant.

And yet it had ruined Bella's relationship with her whole family. I realised suddenly how wrong that was and felt a pang of guilt.

My outrage of moments before was gone; Andi considered me the only one sensible enough to disregard her new husband's family history, but was I?

After all, I, too, had been horrified to hear about it.

"Slytherins are playing up a bit, Sirius," I turned around to see a boy in the year below me whose name I couldn't remember, "talking about how your family's fallen from grace."

"Yeah…" I answered vaguely, turning away.

"Oh yeah," the boy sounded amazed, but then his voice broke into a happy laugh. "I'd forgotten. Thought you'd be upset…."

"What did you forget?" I asked, turning back to him.

He smiled admiringly at me, "I kinda expected you'd be angry, I forgot, see, that you don't think all that stuff matters, family history and bloodlines and that." I must've looked confused because he kept talking, "everyone knows that you think blood amounts to nothing in a person, so I was stupid to think you'd be upset over a blight on the Black name; you're bigger than that."

And I thought about it for a while, still holding Andi's letter in my hand, and realised that the strange kid was right; family history didn't matter to me at all.

If Ted Tonks' father had been a lunatic and his mother had had a mustache and dealt drugs, it wouldn't matter because Andi loved him and I trusted her.

The fact that he was a muggle wouldn't make me hate him;

I was bigger than that.


	7. Chapter 7

I have spent the last three hours with my fingers pushed up against the scorch mark where my name used to be on the Black Family Tree.

Three hours, mysterious somebody, just standing there, letting memories wash over me.

That time, so many years ago now, she had stood in exactly the same place, her fingers touching _just_ there, a delicate frown on her face. "I still don't understand," she said slowly, "why you bothered. It caused you and your family so much pain."

I had smiled sadly, "you should understand," I had said, "you of all people should understand."

But, ah, such memories are not conducive to sanity, and I was trying my best to appear sane.

Kreacher, you may be interested to know, came in while I was reminiscing.

"Master is not right in the mind. Master has finally cracked. Master knows that Mistress did right to send him away,"

Snapped rudely out of my reverie, I felt I had to respond. "She didn't send me away; I left." I corrected him. "And, to be frank, I don't really need to hear my life's events recounted back to me by a filthy piece of refuse, who for some reason has not yet died."

"Master's wish is my command." Kreacher had told me, smiling maliciously.

"If only," I sighed, but then my voice turned icy with resentment. "Now get out. I don't need you here. I don't want you here. And besides, scum, there's nothing in here for you to steal."

Kreacher scraped his way back out of the room, but paused in the doorway. "Kreacher knows why Master stands there," he said knowingly, and I felt myself stiffen in shock. "Kreacher knows, oh yes. Kreacher remembers the girl, Kreacher couldn't forget a girl with such blood. Mistress would have liked a marriage there, oh yes."

"What are you talking about, you raving piece of shite?" I asked casually, as though I didn't know. As though I hadn't been thinking the very same thing.

"But Master won't be feeling her presence there," Kreacher told me smugly, "because she was not the last one to stand as such. Mistress was." Here he clutched his heart, "poor Mistress. Bad Master broke Mistress' heart."

"She didn't have a heart." I told him brutally.

He gave no sign of having heard. "She would stand as such for hours, just staring at the place where Bad Master's name had been. But when Bad Master hurt Master Regulus, she never came to stare at it again. She tried to burn it _more_ away."

Suddenly the spot was tainted for me. My mother had missed me, had she? Felt regret? Stood here regularly.

You may think I should feel touched, but in truth I felt tainted. The person had thought I was connecting with was no longer there; replaced by my spiteful shrew of a mother. "Out," I told Kreacher, seething, "get out. Now. I don't want you anywhere near me, is that clear? I don't want you in my house."

Kreacher seemed to fume, "Master should remember, Kreacher is a part of the house. Kreacher is more a Black than Master."

My laugh was hollow and forced. "Not quite, friend. I am the only black. And, ah, what is that noise?" I cocked my head to one side, "it is the sound of Kreacher being told that he is not wanted by the last of the Black's."

"Not the last," he'd muttered as he shuffled away, "not the last."

…..

"Hey, hey wait a second!"

I frowned at the voice, looking over my shoulder at the figure gliding toward me, "Dahlquist?" I asked, confused.

She came to a stop in front of me, smiling, "I need to talk to you," she said, "didn't I tell you to wait for me?"

It had been so long- for her to approach me was so unexpected, but to my surprise, not unwelcome. I made to answer, smiling despite myself, but suddenly, I became aware of a presence at my elbow.

"Well, I didn't want to disturb you in front of the Slytherins," Remus was smiling at her, eyes a warm shade of light gold, "I know how they can be."

Dahlquist smiled, tossing her hair, "I would have talked to you anyway." She told him with a mock frown, "In any case, that just adds to the fun of it. You've seen Crabbe's face when I speak to Gryffindors- most amusing." Remus grinned at her, and she winked. "I wanted to thank you for helping me in potions. That day I….wasn't myself. I would have failed if you hadn't….."

Remus smiled, "don't worry, Lee." He said, "I understand. But why were you so upset?"

I couldn't believe it. Remus Lupin, the nerd of the school, engaging in a D&M with its most popular revolutionary. How had they become so close?

Dahlquist smiled, "I shall tell you in a moment," she said with a bored glance in my direction. Although perhaps I am being far too generous when I say it was a look in _my_ direction; James and Peter were standing by my side. But somehow I felt that they weren't - as though this exchange was between Remus, Dahlquist and myself, no matter that she hadn't acknowledged me at all.

Remus turned to us and raised an eyebrow, "meet up with you in class?" he asked, and when I opened my mouth to object, James grinned and said, "yeah, sure, Moony. Why the hell not? See you there."

Dahlquist with typical nonchalance, waved a hand in farewell. Peter, obviously unimpressed, glowered a little, and so she shot him a sly wink, making him flush. She gave a low, smooth laugh, then grabbed Remus arm, drawing him over to a nearby wall.

I felt mildly unwell.

James was chuckling as we walked along, arms swinging by his sides and eyes cast skyward as he contemplated the idea of bookish Remus and bitchy Dahlquist. "Imagine, Sirius," he chortled, "imagine if they had _children_.."

We had made up, after our fight.

It hadn't been instantaneous, and it hadn't been overly easy, but it had happened. I suppose you don't understand, mysterious somebody. Girls so rarely do. Girls will stew about things for months on end, they will bear a grudge for close to forever.

For boys, one punch up and you're ready to move on. We'd had our fight, James and I, and now with a strict, though unspoken, agreement never to refer to the incident again we were ready to forget it all.

It helped, I suppose, that my callous dumping of Lily had made her furious enough to engage in a long, deep bitching session about me in the Gryffindor common room with none other than the equally pissed James.

Lily, I had since realised, had not been dismissing my friendship with James, or claiming that we were in love. She had been referring entirely to the Andromeda scandal, which had been related to her by Dahlquist only moments before our little 'discussion'.

I was in the wrong there, but my faux pas had left James with a brilliant opportunity, which he had grasped eagerly with both hands. They were going to the next Hogsmeade weekend together. James had offered to show Lily the Shrieking Shack, which he told her he knew very well, and the thought of what he had tentatively termed 'a date' with Evans, had kept him in the happiest of moods for the past week.

Still feeling horribly guilty about the whole business, I managed to put up with his incessant cheeriness with little to no complaint, but it was difficult. However, as time passed, I was getting used to this horribly sunny James, which was why I knew something was going on the second that the happy whistling which he'd kept up the entire walk to Transfiguration stopped.

"What?" I asked, turning to him, but he was gazing in front of us with a wicked grin.

"_Snivellus_," he said, and there was longing in his voice.

I have a confession, mysterious somebody. In my quest to show you the important moments of my schooling life, I may have, shall we say 'edited out' certain unsavoury aspects of my boyhood.

Snivellus is one such.

I must now admit that, in my careful retelling, I have perhaps neglected to communicate to you just how cruel I was to the poor freak. He is cruel to you, is he? Dislikes you for no particular reason? I do not doubt it, and while that _is_ his general personality, I think it can be attributed at least in part to me. You see, mysterious someone, though you obviously look nothing like me, I feel sure that you look like your mother, and that would be enough of a sin for Snape. That bastard never needed much encouragement to hate someone who was even minutely connected to me. Your mother was connected to me, so whether you are considered my child or not, you still carry the weight of Snape's hate on your shoulders.

But I was not thinking about you, on that morning all those years ago. I was not even aware of your future existence, and would have laughed raucously at any man who had tried to tell me of you. The only thing I cared about was Snivellus- and making him feel like shit.

My nostrils flared; I was a bloodhound on the scent, "James," I said quietly, just this once."

He shook is head, "Lily would never forgive me," he said softly, and I snorted, but asked no more. How he managed to be so completely under her thumb before they had even begun to date was beyond me, but I knew he was terribly nervous of ruining his chance, and _tried_ to respect just how whipped he was. I would not touch Snape.

What I did do, however, was wait until we were standing not two feet in front of our prey, and then pounce. "So, do you think you'll kiss her, then?" I asked him, and James, sensing my motive, smiled at me.

"Evans?" He asked casually, "I'm not sure. I mean, that she's agreeing to go on a date with me is a good sign, but I don't know…"

"She waited til the second date with me," I confided, breaching our carefully constructed wall with James' full approval- anything to get back at Snivellus. "But man was it worth it."

Snape looked ready to explode.

He was an ugly teenager, all long limbs, twiggy arms and sallow skin.

He had somehow managed to retain the awkward look of a prepubescent boy, sporting hugely knobbly knees and the beginnings of acne. His hair hung lankly down along his cheekbones, leaving trails of grease which on hot days were fully visible and on cold days were the barest suggestion along his face. His long, eyes darted side to side like a snake's.

I was revolted, but that just spurred me on.

"She's a good kisser?" James asked innocently.

"Pretty damn," I told him with a grin, "and she's good at other stuff besides….."

In a flurry of parchment and bat-like robes, Snape made his retreat, head tucked against his chest and books thrust up in front of his face.

I slapped James a high five. "Not overly entertaining," I said honestly, "but still satisfying enough."

"I concur," James said, and then we walked to class.

That night, Remus was oddly subdued. While James and I experimented with how long it took girls to notice that we'd spelled their skirts to flip into the air, he stared morosely at the fire- not even noticing when Amanda Fletchly (known as 'the legs') _bent_ _over_ mid spell. He didn't try and stop us, or admire our skillfulness. He didn't even notice when the girls figured it out and pelted us with their textbooks. We just couldn't encourage him into high spirits, not with all our efforts combined.

Finally, James pulled his last card, sick of our friend's pensive eyes and downturned mouth. "So, what's going on with you and Dahlquist," he asked nonchalantly, but with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

As though spiting us on purpose, Remus' eyes flashed once, then he looked away. "Nothing."

"She's very pretty." James said in a singsong voice.

I plastered a smile on my face, shocked by my own inability to contribute to the conversation. I was the _king_ of teasing- mocking people's burgeoning relationships was practically my hobby. What was I worried about?

I was jolted from my reverie by the sound of Remus slamming his book shut, "she's smart, too, you know. Not just _pretty_." He said tetchily.

James blinked in shock. Remus was _never_ tetchy, "didn't say she wasn't." he said easily, "I know she's smart."

"And." I heard myself say, "she's a marvelous kisser. A real tiger."

Three pairs of eyes turned on me as James, Remus and Peter considered my words. James looked like he was going to throttle me, "what happened to 'I don't kiss and tell'." He asked, "even when the damn thing happened you wouldn't tell us what she was like."

So very true. I _never_ talked about what girls were like. It just seemed so crass. I wasn't sure why I'd done it. To hide my discomfort, I picked up a copy of the prophet, turning quickly to the crossword and frowning in concentration.

"Sirius?"

"Oh, you know," I said, realizing they were waiting for an answer, "I was just thinking aloud. You know, seeing as _I_ kissed her and all." They were still watching me. With I sigh, I mustered a cheerful grin, "help me out. 11 letters; 'Possessive; behaving in a way so as to assert a claim to an area or object'."

"Territorial" James said, a knowing tone in his voice, "weirdly appropriate considering. Why are you bringing up Dahlquist?"

I rolled me eyes, "I'm not." I said, "I was just saying that I kissed her."

"You kiss a lot of girls," Remus said darkly, and I raised my hands in supplication.

"Okay, okay." I said, "it isn't like I like her or anything- she's all yours."

Remus opened his mouth to argue, but James jumped in first, "because there is _definitely_ some chemistry there. Reckon there's something going on, you sly old dog." He nudged Remus playfully.

"There is _nothing_ going on between us," Remus snapped, and James gave up, holding his hands in front of him in a gesture of surrender. Embarrassed at his outburst, Remus looked away, muttering quietly, "how can there be?"

"Alright, alright." James leant back in his chair, then glanced sidelong at Remus for a moment, "full moon tomorrow," he said with a smile, and Remus looked up, his eyes turning a kind of dark brown I didn't like; he had just made up his mind about something.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "a full moon."

…..

I was the only one to actually hear it, the light press of shoes into a creaky floor. I gave a low whine and pricked my ears up.

There it was again; a long creak as someone who didn't know the shack attempted to navigate their way through the debris of the front room.

If I could hear it, it wouldn't be long before Remus did as well. And _then_ he would wake up.

I turned to look at my friend.

Curled up whimpering in the corner of the room, Remus was a far cry from his bookish self. His upper torso was heavily muscled, his arms rippling with cords of the stuff, and his legs were also heavily roped with it. He had fallen asleep not ten minutes before, which meant that he would be awake pretty soon; werewolves sleep in short bursts.

As I considered this, he snorted, and his elongated nose twitched.

I should mention, of course, that dear Remus was covered all in thick grey hair.

I padded over to his side, checking if he was asleep. James had left half an hour before, and Peter had had late night detention.

Remus probably thought I had left too- I usually did- but I'd needed the solitude, and so had stayed with him in the shack. Now, however, I loped toward the exit, ready to curse James or Peter for not transforming _before_ they approached. Of course, part of me was certain that it could be neither one of them- they knew their way around better than the idiot who'd been clomping around in there.

I considered. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey- it was possible. Though admittedly, she didn't seem foolish enough to venture back on a fool moon. Filled with a deep sense of foreboding, I padded into the foyer.

She was standing somewhat bemusedly in the centre of the foyer, hands clasped behind her back as her keen eyes ran over each and every aspect of our hideaway. As I watched from the shadows, she crossed to the wall, running her fingers along the gashes and scratches, frowning as she traced the patterns of gouged out wood and plaster.

Elegantly and without looking, she stepped over the broken chair which blocked one of the doorways, pulled it up, and sat on it with a sigh, leaning it against the wall to compensate for its lack of back legs.

What was Aureliee Dahlquist doing in the Shrieking Shack?

I prowled into the room, keeping to the shadows, and watched her for a moment.

Her hair was up in a messy ponytail, she had mud smudged across her nose, and she was wearing her quidditch robes. I considered the time; it had to be quite late by now, and even the Slytherins didn't practice after dark. Watching her pluck some grass from her ponytail I wondered if she had perhaps been hanging around one of the quidditch boys for some sort of _'extra practice'_. The thought made me sneer.

As I watched, she sighed and stretched her arms out, arching her back like a cat. She leant her head back against the ruined wall with a small, tired smile. It looked like she was going to fall asleep, and the thought of that made my sneer turn into a smile.

And then I felt it; a slight shift in Remus' position in the room upstairs- just the smallest creak of a floorboard- the scrape of claws against wood. He was waking up. Knowing I couldn't put it off any longer, I stepped into the dim light of the shack.

Dahlquist had closed her eyes, but she opened them as a floorboard creaked. "Mon Dieu!" she hissed, standing very slowly.

I admired her for that; most people would have jumped at the sight of me, still shrouded in shadows, a huge, snarling shape barely visible in the limited light from Dahlquist's wand.

I gave her my fiercest growl and she kept her eyes averted, not meeting my gaze. She was playing the scene like a textbook.

_Move slowly, don't make any sudden gestures. Avoid looking the dog in the eye….._

Did I mention, mysterious somebody, that I was a dog for the duration of this memory?

Every full moon we would do this, all of us in animagus form would accompany Remus and stay by him while he transformed. I had always liked dogs. Huge, great, wolf-like dogs whom people couldn't help but be a little afraid of. The sort of dogs that instinctively made people a little on edge.

So of course, I had been elated when I'd discovered my own form was a huge, shaggy dog.

In dog guise, I would come up to about your waist, measuring from my back. I had huge, grey eyes (my own eyes, in fact) and a rather majestic head, which, when my mouth was open, sported a rather large, gleaming set of sharp teeth. My fur was thick and black, and slightly shaggy. Like my hair, I think. My paws were easily the size of your hands.

Again I growled and Dahlquist couldn't help but chance a look in my direction. I waited for her to break and run; that would be the normal human reaction. I watched her eyes flash as she thought about her position, probably searching her mind for a way out. Then, to my surprise, she slowly crouched down until she was at my level.

"Tiens, chien" she said soothingly, and I was equal parts taken aback and amused, "du calme, du calme."

Only an idiot would greet a rabid dog, then tell it to keep calm.

In French.

She stretched out a hand, "come on, don't be frightened," she said encouragingly.

I growled at her, my most menacing and guttural growl. The sort of growl that would make a grown man weep with terror.

To my disappointment, Dahlquist did _not_ weep with terror. Instead, she did a strange thing. She glanced up and frowned, not at me, but at something behind me.

"Merde," she hissed, and then, watching me the whole time, she shouted, "Remus? Are you there?"

I froze. Remus? I felt him stir, and knew that he would be awake soon. I had to get her out. Quickly.

But how? How to force the apparently fearless idiot out? The solution, of course, presented itself to me, and I _had_ to admire its simplicity. Her hand was still outstretched, so it was even relatively easy.

I lunged across and bit her, sinking my teeth into her hand. She cried out in shock and yanked her hand back. I let her do so, wishing I could spit out the taste of her blood. Naturally, my tender sentiments were lost on Dahlquist. Panting, she jumped back against the wall, blood pooling at her feet from her hand, her eyes wide with what _should_ have been fear.

But I suspected it was outrage. In any case, she watched me for a moment, on edge, but then her gaze flicked back to the doorway leading to Remus, and something in it hardened.

She turned back to me, drawing her wand.

Shit, I thought.

"Move." She told me in French, "move now."

I growled and crouched. _You move, stupid._ I wanted to say, _stubborn little French bitch._

But dogs aren't particularly good at speaking, and Dahlquist's eyes were flashing with fiery resolution as she raised her wand.

And so then, purely out of necessity, I jumped on her.

You're probably looking skeptical.

I can see you now, playing with a strand of your hair as you read. Your mother used to do that. And as you read that last line, you paused and raised an eyebrow, as though saying, 'what? You expect me to believe that?'

Please, don't take it out on the paper, it didn't choose to be written on.

I _had_ to attack Dahlquist because, had she cursed me into immobility, I would have been unable to protect her when Remus woke up. And that couldn't be too far off.

But why should I explain myself? Why must I justify my actions to every person I speak to about this? What was the alternative, pray tell. Do I back away and let her pass, bow before her, yet still block the door? Act so adorably that she no longer considered me a threat and instead wanted to adopt me? Transform back, stark naked I might add, and explain why she had to be quiet, leaving us both at Remus' mercy?

I had to attack her, you understand? I had to.

My jaws clamped down on the wrist of her wand hand and she yelped. But of course, I little nip would _never _convince Dahlquist that she ought to _back the hell off_, and so I sank my teeth deeper and shook her hand so hard in my mouth that her wand spun wildly across the room, lodging itself under a chair, between a loose skirting board and half a cupboard.

She glanced towards it in shock, and I dragged my claws as lightly as I could across her face, herding her slowly toward the door, while she attempted (like an idiot) to fend me off with her bare hands.

Her hair wasn't in a ponytail now; our scuffle had rendered her bloody and a complete mess. Her hair fell in straggly curls around her face, and blood streaked her cheek. She looked insane.

She _was_ insane. I mean, she was facing down a wild dog.

"Remus!" she called out frantically, and the desperation in her voice made me think that perhaps I had won. But no, pride goeth before the fall, and while I felt my heart soar in triumph, she barreled into my, knocking me aside as she ran up the stairs. Her feet pounded on the creaky steps, as she dragged herself up to the second storey, clinging to the rail and staring hard at the doorway.

I felt a stab of fear. If she walked through that door, she would come face to face with an angry werewolf who was waking up as we spoke. Who knew how much longer he'd be asleep?

As though in answer to my question, a howl sounded from the next room. Had I the ability to speak at that moment, my language would have been pretty colourful.

What happened next seemed to last a lifetime, but was in fact took place probably over about three seconds.

First, I lunged, flinging myself through the air.

Second, or simultaneously, Dahlquist pulled open the door.

Third, I latched onto her ankle, sinking my teeth deep into her skin.

Fourth, and fifth, Remus bounded out the room as I flung Dahlquist into the far wall, next to the door, and lunged at Remus, muscles groaning.

It was close. As I dragged her back, Remus' claws sprung out, and as it was, he still caught on to the front of her robes, ripping long gashes in them.

If I'd been just millisecond later, his claws would have been embedded in her chest, but luck and strength had her flying across the room and hitting the wall with a resounding thump before he could so much as scratch her.

I knew this only from what I could hear, because by then I was distracted; Remus was tearing into me in his effort to get to Dahlquist, and I had to fight him off, without seriously hurting him and without allowing him to bite me.

Seeing those strong jaws snapping at me, strings of saliva hanging from his teeth and knowing that one of my dearest friends was, in some small degree, behind those eyes, was one of the most petrifying moments of my life.

You see, mysterious somebody, I can fight wizards and creatures and all manner of things that are opposing me with very little fear at all. Adrenaline kicks in and I feel nothing but exhilaration. But fighting someone you love in order to _protect_ someone you love? It is impossible- taxing in every way. The adrenaline rush just doesn't come, and all you feel is overwhelming fear, for yourself, but mostly for the one you are protecting and the one you are protecting them from.

And to think I would feel it all again not 20years later. To think that such an experience would be repeated- that Remus would transform again in the presence of humans, and again they would be humans I cared about. I fought him off then, too, without Dahlquist to back me up and with everything to lose.

But back to the story.

Dahlquist sat for a few moments, shocked, bruised and afraid, but she was strong and sensible enough to think of leaving while I held off Remus.

I say 'think' because she did not, of course, leave.

Instead, demonstrating the stupidly dramatic tendencies her race is famed for, she scrambled onto her hands and knees, yanked her wand out of the wall, pointed it at Remus and cried out a binding curse.

In seconds he was completely tied up in invisible ropes, unable to move. He howled pitifully, especially when Dahlquist came near, limping and bleeding, to see if I was ok.

She was probably surprised when I didn't growl.

"Chien?" she said, tentatively reaching out and touching the jagged claw marks down my forepaw. And then she smiled, "silly of me, you are an _English_ dog, yes? I will speak only English."

_Finally_ I thought to myself.

Dahlquist sighed, absently stroking my fur. She shaking, whether out of shock or the remnants of fear, and I could easily sense that she needed something to comfort her, something to do to calm her nerves. Not once did she look over at Remus, who struggled still on the floor, tied tight in his invisible bonds and whining. Those bonds were strong, but truly nothing compared to the bodily prison which held his mind captive. I wondered whether or not he was aware of what he was doing. If he had seen himself trying to rip into Dahlquist; seen himself ripping into me.

Dahlquist seemed to have left during my philosophical brooding, and I was insanely grateful for that. Too many questions to ask- too many that _couldn't_ be answered.

I began to pull myself up, turning to Remus with a doggy sigh. I loped awkwardly (favouring my left front leg) into the other room, picking up my robes in my teeth and preparing to transform.

"Chien? I mean- dog?" I paused. Apparently, Dahlquist had not left.

The French are a stubborn race.

That meant that she was standing alone in a room with an incapacitated werewolf. Waiting for me. Why?

"Chien? I have some water?"

Oh, _that's _why. Because it would be stupid to _not_ wait for a rabid dog in the same room as an angry werewolf because you wanted to give it a refreshment.

With a dog-like snort, I left.

As I ran out of the second exit, I thought regretfully of that water. I could realy have used a drink. Then I thought happily that Dahlquist had realised I was only trying to protect her when I bit her and scratched her. I'd been worried that she would hold that against me. But no, she seemed to have figured it all out.

But of course, I reminded myself, it would be best if she _hadn't_ figured it out, because that would mean that she knew Remus' secret. So whether she thought the dog was crazy or thought it was a hero, she could absolutely _not_ know the truth- that it was me.

That realization made me irrationally annoyed, and I wanted nothing more than to be in my warm, snuggly bed- half asleep and dreaming of pretty girls.

Unfortunately, leaving by the second exit meant that I was in Hogsmeade- which considering the wards around the school meant I was literal worlds away from that wonderful bed. With another doggy sigh, I loped to a nearby tree and, by the light of the moon, transformed.

As I pulled on my robes, I felt my arm twinge in protest, and gingerly touched my fingers to it. My hand came up wet; blood.

Swearing loudly, I dug into my pocket and pulled out a small, rectangular mirror, cupping it in my hands and whispering into it.

"James?"

"Mmmpph." He was sleeping. Reflected in the mirror, all I could see was the corner of Murphey's bed, and also part of a shoe.

"JAMES"

"WHAT?" now he was holding the mirror in his palm, staring angrily down into it. I cast _lumos_ so that he could see my face.

"Holy shit," he swore, "what the hell happened to you?"

I related the story briefly back to him while he rubbed his eyes and pulled at his face sleepily.

As I finished, he frowned, his eyes half closed and said, "whaddya mean Dahlquist was in the shack?"

James was not at his brightest just after being woken up. I gritted my teeth and repeated myself slowly. "I mean she was in the shack, James. I don't know how or why, but she was in there, looking for Remus."

James frowned, rubbing at his bleary eyes. "You think she followed him in?" he asked, slurring his words.

I shook my head curtly. "Not her style. I mean, can you imagine her actually _stalking_ someone." I considered, "Besides, why would she follow him down to the shack in the evening, but only actually go inside now?"

James yawned, covering his mouth with a huge hand, "well, if she followed him in, she wouldda gotten quite a shock, hey?"

And then he froze- hand on his cheek, hair a mess- and his eyes widened just slightly as his mouth went slack.

"Shit." He wore quietly.

I slapped myself in the face, "now he gets it," I exclaimed exasperatedly to an invisible audience.

"Oh, damn," James said again, his voice blank with shock. "Oh bloody hell. She could have- she could have-"

"Died." I filled in, suddenly impatient. "Or become a werewolf. And she's intimidating enough as is."

"Shitdamn."

James' shocked exclamations were beginning to annoy me; I'd dealt with the problem already. Stewing over what could have happened was not constructive behaviour, and I was bleeding and sore and ready for bed. "Ok, James. I know. It could've sucked." He blanched at my understatement. "Now, we really do have to think about how I'm going to get back into the school."

It was only second term, and so it wasn't all that cold just yet, but the winter was setting in and I wasn't wearing all that much at all. In dog form, this cold would be nothing, but as a human…..

"You're not in the school?" James asked. I sighed. Apparently he was still _not_ awake. Sure, maybe the early hour made his sleepy sluggishness understandable, but I couldn't help but be resentful. Of course _he_ was falling asleep. _He_ had a bed!

"Had to exit via the Hogsmeade entrance," I told him sulkily. "Dahlquist was intent on nursing me back to health, so I had to avoid her. And _now_. Well. Now I'm in the village at 12 in the morning, and I want my bed! I need to get _home_."

It wasn't common for me to whine. James, sensing I was at the end of my tether, snapped to attention, straightening his glasses and clearing his throat, "the obvious choice is the Honeydukes passage, right? That comes up right inside the school, if you remember?" I nodded in agreement, but then James frowned slightly, "nah," he said shaking his head- apparently dismissing his own idea, "nah, that won't work."

"Why not?" I asked, confused.

"Honeydukes," he said, peering at me, now fully conscious, "will be locked."

I shrugged slightly, pulling a small, ordinary penknife out of my robe pocket.

James' worried expression was wiped away at the sight of it; he grinned.

A footnote; that knife was amazing. It seemed to everybody to be nothing more than a penknife, but there were some wonderful little attachments, invisible to the untrained or even overly trusting eye, which could in fact pick just about any lock placed before it. I had bought it perhaps two years before, when I'd spent my holidays on an unauthorized trip to Romania. My parents had _not_ been pleased.

I should have told you about that, I suppose, but I'm sure you'll get by. This is, after all, an abridged version of my life (what a depressing statement to have to make) and so I cannot include _every_ interesting thing I ever did. We'd be here forever.

In any case, I only mentioned the knife because Harry has it now.

Poor Harry. I always seem to be giving him second hand gifts. Perhaps I shouldn't say this to you- you who have never received a single present from me. I suppose that I just always felt that I needed to take care of Harry- to lavish on him the attention that he could never have from his parents. I gave him my old mirrors recently, and of course, when he was 14 I bequeathed to him my knife. I suppose because I was 14 when I got it. I don't think that he's ever broken in anywhere, though. He just doesn't have that rebellious streak. Unless his situation is truly terrible, he is content to soldier on through, whereas I could never follow rules, not even if I had the greatest respect for those who made them.

I hated to be contained in any way.

But this knife was truly special. The only person who had ever guessed its worth was Albus Dumbledore. I dropped it once while picking the lock on Filch's 'CONFISCATED' drawer, and he picked it up for me. I hadn't realised he had come into the room, and he didn't say anything about what I was doing, simply looked reprovingly at me, examined it once, and then said.

"What a handy little knife, Mr Black. Do take better care of it in future." Then he smiled at me, his eyes twinkling as they do, and walked away.

Afterwards, when I tried to open the drawer, I found it had already been unlocked. Later, I cursed James, who was supposed to have been the look-out on our mission to recover our contraband belongings. Later, I was furious about all the things which could have happened, had the teacher been anyone but Dumbledore. But Dumbledore it had been, and so I was safe.

Dumbledore is good like that. He loves to help the underdogs. Not that I could truly be counted in their number. Unless you were thinking _literally….._.

I do have a rather chronic habit of digressing, don't I? What was I saying?

Nothing overly interesting, I am afraid. I have always hated pointless stories, especially when they lack wit, and though _I _do not lack wit in any way, I am aware that I have not been using it to frequently in my retelling. But, I swear to you that _this _storyy has a point. It is like a long, winding road leading up to that golden palace of 'point'. Boring and tedious, perhaps, but necessary. I couldn't just have launched into it; you would not have understood properly.

So, rather predictably, I broke into Honeydukes without so much as batting an eyelid, and loped down the passageway all the way to Hogwarts, where, after hurriedly conferring with James, I carefully made my way out of the statue of the old hag. Of course, James had assured me that there was no one coming, but for once in my life, I had decided to be cautious.

But he was right, the marauders map was right and I was wrong. My journey to the Gryffindor common room was nothing more strenuous than a midday stroll in the park. I was there in no time.

The fat lady was snoring rather loudly when I arrived.

I had, naturally, forgotten all about her.

"Shit," James said, obviously catching sight of her via the mirror, "now what do you do? Think you can charm her into not telling the professors?"

I smiled patronisingly, "James," I said with a dramatic sigh, "James, James, James. You forget who you are talking to."

James chuckled, but his laugh turned into a yawn and I was suddenly aware of the time. It really was getting late- I wondered what sort of state I'd be in tomorrow. Sensing my unasked question with his usual perception, James rifled through a few papers to tell me,

"Slughorn first up tomorrow. Should be fine."

"Do I look like I care?" I asked, but in reality I cared very much. My arm was starting to sting badly, and I wished I'd had the foresight to heal it. I knew I had bruises all over my face, and cuts as well. I was a mess, and while I'd been confident to James' face, I wasn't sure how I could convince the fat lady not to tell Dumbledore of my condition. I mean, it wasn't as though I looked like I'd come from a midnight tryst or something.

I looked like I'd been attacked. Which I had.

Twice.

James yawned again, jolting me out of my reverie. He looked impatient, "get up here so we can fix you and then I can _sleep_." He ordered.

I felt myself frown, "oh, I'm sorry. Am I keeping you _awake_!" James grinned sheepishly, "are you in some sort of _discomfort_, James?"

The fat lady's painting was from back from the 1700s or some such time, but despite her age, she was just like every other middle-aged woman I'd ever known. So when I came across her, though she was not sleeping with her hair in rollers and a facial mask plastered across her features, she was in the midst of her own beauty regime. Her hair was tied in wet rages, to produce the elaborate ringlets which she wore so proudly, despite their having gone out of fashion over a hundred years before, and there was a peg on her nose. She always looked like this after midnight- I was used to it. However, despite my many assurances (late at night while attempting to re-enter the Gryffindor common room _without_ being caught breaking curfew) that I had seen many, many women looking far more terrible than she, the bloody portrait still cringed and blushed coyly whenever I saw her at less than her mediocre best.

_This_ is what I would be facing in a matter of seconds. This ringletted medusa and her airy giggles.

I woke her now.

"Good morning," I said quietly. I had smoothed my hair down over my black eye and rubbed the dirt off my face as best I could. I had put my wand away. As suspicious as it looked to be trawling the corridors without a lumos spell to light my way, I felt that my less than pristine appearance would probably raise more questions. She couldn't see me in the dark.

The fat lady started violently, giving a ridiculous little shriek of surprise upon noting the dark figure standing before her.

She peered at me for a moment before whispering quietly, "Sirius Black." In a voice which suggested awe. And fear.

Much later in my life, standing in that same spot, I would experience a feeling of déjà vu which I would not be able to banish. But then, as a 16year old boy, I could not be aware that many years into the future, I would stand before her again, gaunt and old before my time, coated in dirt and sweat and clutching a great long knife.

And she would greet me just the same. Waking with that little shriek, saying my name like it was some kind of swear word, eyes round with fear.

Perhaps a lot of trouble would have been saved if, on that night, I could have been my old self for just a few minutes. Young Sirius would have charmed his way into the common room even if he looked like death warmed up, (or in my case, left cold). But I was new, hardened Sirius then, and could not charm her; the best I could were threats.

Still, on _this _night when I was just 16, I merely thought that her greeting was unusual, and out of character.

The fat lady recovered soon enough, "what are you doing, foolish boy?" she snapped, hands fluttering over her heart in consternation. "You ought to be in bed." Her multiple chins quivered with rage, coloured with embarrassment.

"I know, I know." I told her smoothly, "and I'm relying on _you_ to help me here. You see," I ducked my head as though embarrassed, "I was sort of meeting.. with a girl." I could almost feel the fat lady's romantic heart melt. Hamming it up, I looked earnestly up at her. "Oh, she's the most wonderful girl! I could've stayed out all night, but I didn't want to disappoint _you_. I'm here to make myself a better man; I am prostrate with guilt here at your beautiful feet." I let my teeth flash white in the darkness, grinning wolfishly at her.

She squinted at me, her old painted eyes not strong enough to make out my face. "Why aren't you lighting your way?" she asked, suspiciously.

Good question.

"The darkness is so much more romantic, I find," I said easily, leaning against the wall near her portrait.

"Oh, you!" she said with a reluctant giggle, "but you _must_ show me your face, or I cannot let you in."

What a flirt.

"The password is 'gregorian subversialism.'" I told her, and she giggled again.

"Yes, but I cannot just _let _you in. You could be a criminal. You might've tortured the password out of someone. I cannot let you in until I see your face."

I should have remembered this, you know, mysterious somebody, but at the time I thought she was just flirting. She meant what she said, however, which I learnt in later years. She would only let students and teachers into the common room and she needed to see their faces.

Reluctantly, I drew my wand. "Lumos." I said sulkily, and she gasped.

"Merlin's Pantaloons, child." She breathed, one pudgy hand covering her mouth. "You look like you were attacked by wild dogs!"

I couldn't help but laugh at that.

"Can I come in?" Luckily, she was shocked enough to swing open for me.

I blew her a kiss, forgetting that I'd split my lip, and then I was inside. Inside and safe.

James was waiting for me by the stairs, nodding off to sleep against the banister. I woke him rather roughly and he fell over instantly.

The noise brought Peter running down the stairs like a feral thing, although he stopped when he saw me, covered his mouth in horror, pointed shakily and cried "Werewolf?"

I place that question mark there deliberately because Peter's voice had actually soared a few octaves higher when his eyes had passed across me. The end of the word had ended in a question. This is important; it shows you that Peter could never quite commit to anything. Until he was sure I was a werewolf, he would not openly call me one. So his accusation sounded more like a terrified query.

"No," I answered, shrugging off my cloak, "he didn't bite me. They're just scratches."

James kindly took my robe from me, before flinging it unceremoniously on a nearby couch, "big scratches," he yawned, pulling out his wand, "lets get this going."

But none of us could actually focus well enough on the bloody healing to fix me up properly. By the time we retreated, tired and fed up, to bed, we had done nothing more than change the livid red slashes on my arms into pale, white scars, and reduce the swelling of my black eye.

So I wouldn't be a beauty queen that day. None of us cared. We were all tired, had about four hours of sleep until class started, and were dreading tomorrow.

Not because we had been lax with out assignments and essays (although we had, of course, been lax) or because we didn't want to be punished (we were so accustomed to punishment that we felt concerned when we went through a day without it) but because not one of us relished having to tell Remus that the night before, he'd almost killed me. And Dahlquist.

….

We considered Dahlquist a problem.

The only thing which made it possible for Remus to live a normal life as a werewolf was simply that no one knew he was a werewolf. James, Peter and I were the only students who were aware of the fact, except perhaps for Severus, for reasons I will not go into.

Dahlquist was a loose cannon- could she truly be trusted not to tell?

We thought not.

It would all have been so simple, if only she were stupid. A stupid girl would assume that she'd been attacked by wild dogs.

A coward would have left when I'd attacked, rather than hand around until Remus turned up.

But she was intelligent and brave. She wouldn't think it was a normal wolf who was holed up in the shack, she would recognize the symptoms and see Remus for what he was; a werewolf.

Yet the next day was quiet.

We descended into the great hall with matching expressions of foreboding- prepared for the worst, ready to do some serious damage control.

But there was no need.

There were no whispers, nor even murmurs of werewolves in the school. Or of werewolves in the forest, or of werewolves at all. Or of wolves at all, or of dogs at all. Or of animal attacks, although a first year hufflepuff claimed he'd been attacked by a thestral.

"Why is she not saying anything?" James asked nervously, eying her as she sank gracefully into a chair toward the back of our transfiguration class.

I couldn't tell him; I didn't know.

She looked just as she always did, so far as I could tell. After smiling briefly at a rather unfortunate looking Slytherin boy, her gaze had wandered until she was staring off into space, toying with her quill. Her hair was plaited in a long rope down her back, and she had a cigarette tucked behind her ear. Her robes were predictably in the kind of state you imagined a homeless person would think acceptable, with a tattered hem which barely brushed the top of her thighs and a huge green satin bow around her waist. Other than that she favoured one leg over the other and kept her long sleeves pulled over her wrists, she seemed fine.

Of course, when she turned her head, scanning the classroom, I saw that a large portion of her fringe had been dedicated to disguising the claw marks on her face. Her gaze raked the classroom with its normal imperiousness, and she seemed typically oblivious to the Slytherin boy from before, who was gradually mustering the courage to approach her.

I assumed she was looking for her friends, but to my surprise it was me that she called over with a flick of her wrist.

I sauntered toward her, nonchalant and bored.

"Dahlquist."

"Black."

There was a short silence, during which the Slytherin boy buggered off, obviously sensing that he was not wanted.

"Where's Remus?" Dahlquist asked eventually, voice carefully even, "I would have thought he would be here by now."

I smiled slightly to myself. She had never truly lost that French accent. Her English was flawless; you'd think she were a native but for that lilting accent.

"Remus is unwell." I told her. You'd think that this lie would be easy, after all, I'd been telling it every month since I'd arrived at the school, had I not?

But today it was hard.

I don't want you to get the wrong idea; it wasn't difficult to lie for the reasons you're probably imagining. It wasn't like a romantic novel, where the character (usually a terrible person indeed) finds himself face to face with the love of his life and is suddenly unable to lie to her about some great important truth.

I was not like that. I may have killed myself if I'd lost the ability to lie to girls I found attractive.

No, the lie was merely difficult to tell, and not because of my great love for Dahlquist, but because she was so damn perceptive.

In fact, she did not look convinced.

"Unwell?" she asked, face deadpan.

"Unwell." I confirmed.

"With what?" she asked liltingly, "period pains?" She'd been stroking the feathers of her quill with one elegant hand, but as she said this, her eyes shot up to meet mine, a challenge implicit in them.

I smiled at her; that was Dahlquist, perceptive and a bit. She'd previously picked up Remus' regular absences, then. Without realising it, she had given me an opening.

"Damn," I swore, turning away, "the secret's out." I turned back around to her averting my gaze, as though embarrassed, "so now you know. Now you know the secret shame of men. We _also_ get our periods. It's just that we're so damn scared of pain that we pretend we don't, in case our girls want _us_ to be the pregnant ones."

Dahlquist smiled, despite herself it seemed, and ran an elegant hand through her hair.

She was looking at me strangely, and I knew I wasn't dismissed. She was giving me a chance to walk away, but I didn't leave. Instead, I scooted out the chair next to her and sat myself down.

She leant back, stretching like a cat in her seat, "you know," she told me, "I remember when I first saw you; you were in a duel, with my cousin."

I had not thought about that in years. I tend to forget my failures reasonably quickly.

"Ah, I forgot you were Lestrange's cousin. I don't know if I should still be talking to you now….."

Usually, here was where I pretended to stand and leave, giving the girl I was with an opportunity to pull me, laughing, back down into my seat. But with Dahlquist, I couldn't really be sure if she _would_ pull me back. To be honest, I was reasonably sure that she would let me go.

And so my remark lapsed us into silence, not a particularly awkward silence, I should tell you, but certainly not comfortable.

Eventually, Dahlquist spoke, "you know, when I saw you first, I thought you an insufferable pig. You think I didn't see the way you looked me over? Seeing if I were worth your time? I hate that. Who said I would be interested in you? Who gave you _permission_ to treat me like I was already in love with you? I was very…..irritated."

I was rather confused as to her train of thought, actually. Obviously not about to answer her rhetorical questions, I simply stared at her. What were we even talking about?

But, looking straight ahead, she continued, "you seemed, arrogant. I don't know, perhaps more than that. You were fighting Lestrange, which I respected, but you seemed so, I'm not sure, self-obsessed, so…." Her elegant hands sketched patterns in the air, as she struggled to express herself. Finally, she dropped them to her side with a sigh, "so….Black."

I smiled slightly, I couldn't help it.

"Good choice of adjective." I told her, mock serious.

But then my smiled faded as she dismissed my comment with a flick of her wrist. While that would usually be nothing to aggravate, today, when her wrist twisted slightly in the air, her long sleeve fell back, and her pale white wrist was exposed. Pale, white and marred with deep red bite marks. The marks of my teeth.

She noticed the direction of my rather blank gaze, frowned and then shook her sleeve down to cover her injury. But she didn't mention it. Instead, she gave a radiant smile, and then folded her arms on the desk, hiding the ugly bite.

"You know, later, while you duelled, I did think that perhaps I had been to harsh in my judgement. I can be cruel, myself," this was said as an aside. I nodded vaguely, still bewildered by the turn of conversation, "because you were good in that duel, even when it was so obvious that you couldn't win."

This was news to me, "it was obvious?"

"Oh, very. So obvious I ended up leaving before the end, with Lily Potter you know. I was quite irritated with Lestrange, you see. The whole thing was such a- a fiasco. I left."

That explained rather a lot, I thought. In my adolescent self obsession, I wondered if perhaps I had gathered all of her disdainful looks to myself. It was entirely possible I'd assigned all of her scorn to myself, rightly or no. And she had left simply because she did not want to see me thrashed, no other reason.

Really, I ought to have been happy and relieved at that point in time, having had several of the 'Dahlquist Mysteries' sorted out for me, but I wasn't.

Because, despite our mutual dislike, we understood each other, and I knew that she would never explain something simply to make me feel better. This was leading to something I didn't want to hear. It seemed too much like a corny movie to be my life.

"And then I saw you at school and you were so entirely full of yourself. I could barely stand it. And so pretentious. It seemed more than ridiculous to me that you would _pretend _that you had nothing of your family in you. Really. If you wanted admiration for breaking away, you should have admitted the truth, that you were Black through and through, but that you could _fight_ them tooth and nail to be a good person."

Now I began to see a kind of red haze that was familiar to me.

"Just what are you trying to say?" I asked, my voice inevitably rising.

Dahlquist lifted her chin in defiance, "I am saying," she told me slowly, "that you are a _Black_. You have the looks, the personality, the wit, even the humour of a Black. Yet you don't admit it. You are exactly like Bellatrix, except" she held up a hand, "except that you know that you have prejudices, and you try to control them."

But it was too late, I was back in front of Snape, back in my early years, back having my happy little illusion of normalcy being ripped and slashed before my eyes, showing me the truth I did not want to see.

I hated her. I hated her. I hated her.

"What the hell?" I demanded, voice low but dangerous, "you think _you_ of all people have the right to analyse _me_?" I laughed almost crazily and leant back in my chair, "god. You don't even know me, did you think about that? You don't know my family, or me. You don't know _anything_ about me. You know what, you should just piss off. Now who's the snob? Now who thinks they're better than the world? You're so full of it."

Dahlquist's eyes were flashing, "oh really?" she asked, French accent suddenly doubled in strength, "really? You think this? You really want me to believe that you don't act like a Black, _think_ like a Black….."

"Shut the hell up." I hissed at her, "you stupid French snob. Shut up."

Dahlquist scoffed at me, but her eyes were blazing, "I'm a French snob? A _French _snob? What now? Is my family below you, Black? Is my blood not good enough for you now? Am I just not _pure_ enough for your tastes…."

"How about, you're way too stupid for my tastes? How about too slutty, or too bitchy? HOW ABOUT TO BLOODY HYPOCRYTICAL?"

"HYPOCRYTICAL?" Dahlquist cried, "you are calling _me _hypocritical? That is interesting, just fascinating coming from the man who preaches EQUALITY between muggles and wizards and then condemns his own cousin for falling in love with one!"

"Just SHUT UP!" I roared at her. It was now silent in the classroom, as everyone stared at Dahlquist and me. Some small part of me was wondering how I managed to get myself into these situations, but it was only a very small part. The rest of me simply wanted to rip off Dahlquist's head.

God, even now, decades later, my fingers are clenching around my quill as I think about that day. It wasn't so much what she was saying that had me so furious. It was the fact that it was all _true_. I was trying to pretend I had left my blood behind, but even if I bled myself dry, I would still by Black. I hated that knowledge, and even now I hate it.

Dahlquist looked furious, more furious than I had even seen her.

At some stage during the fight, I had kicked my chair over and jumped to my feet. Now Dahlquist had mirrored my action, and was standing before me in all of her glorious anger.

"OR WHAT?" she demanded, "Or what? Going to start a family feud, are we?"

I turned away, flinging a nearby desk over with a resounding crash.

But what she said next sobered me completely.

"Or better yet," she hissed, "why not just _bite_ me again?"

She knew.

….

"Never again," Professor Macgonnegal intoned, hands clenching the edge of the desk, "will you be involved in such a ridiculously uncouth screaming match with another student of this school. It is unseemly, and below you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I snapped at her, still feeling angry.

"Now, now, Mr Black," Slughorn cleared his throat, "do calm down a little."

"Thankyou, but I can handle this, Horace."

"Of course, Minerva. That was never in doubt."

Slughorn now glanced anxiously over at Dahlquist, who paced around in the back of the room, arms folded, emanating anger.

"Uh, Miss Dahlquist," he called. She halted, looking at him over her shoulder, hostility coming off her in visible waves, "perhaps you should come and sit down."

"And perhaps not." Dahlquist answered, voice husky and accent rendering her words difficult to understand. She resumed pacing.

"Now, really." Professor Macgonnagal hissed in exasperation.

Professor Slughorn tried again, "why not, Miss Dahlquist?"

"Because I am far too beneath Black to be so close to him. Who knows, maybe Frenchness is contagious?"

"I was more worried about catching your immaturity," I shot at her.

"Oh, don't worry," she answered without missing a beat, I won't be coming _anywhere_ near you in the foreseeable future,"

"Both of you, enough!" Macgonnagal shouted, slapping a hand on the table, "I've had just about enough of the pair of you. Detention. Weekly. _Together._" This was stressed within an inch of its life, "Starting Wednesday."

Dahlquist and I daggered each other, hate perfectly synchronised.

"But first," Slughorn injected, obviously eager to play a part, "we shall leave the two of you together for an hour. You will discuss your fight and try to resolve it."

Both of us looked sceptical. Macgonnagal, too. But Slughorn insisted, ushering us into his office.

I was in there not two minutes before James' voice came calling out of my pocket.

I pulled the mirror out and flicked it around so that I could see James' earnest face staring up at me.

"Hey. We saw Slughorn and Macgonnagal coming out of the office about five minutes ago. Decided the coast was clear."

"Um, yeah, it is," I said, shooting a look at Dahlquist, who sat nonchalantly in the back corner. She raised her eyebrow at me, before shrugging angrily. She wasn't listening, "what's this 'we'?"

James shot me an almost apologetic wink, before fumblingly passing the mirror on to…

"Evans?" I asked, absolutely at a loss.

Across the room, Dahlquist's head shot up like a rocket.

Lily frowned, "when did you start calling me by my last name again, Sirius?" she asked, and then; "is Lee in there with you?"

I nodded mutely and Lily smiled prettily, "can I speak to her?"

I regained my voice in a rush, "what? No! This is _my_ mirror. Mine. Damn it, Evans, why did James let you take it anyway?"

I probably would have said more, but suddenly cool hands prised my fingers loose and relieved me of my mirror.

"Lily, mon cher," Lee said sardonically, "how are you?"

I could hear Lily's disbelief from a metre away, "how am I? how are you? You're the one who will most likely be spending her every weekend in detention. What was going through you head, Lee?"

'Lee' wasn't listening, "I doubt that I shall actually go to detention," she mused.

"that will just make it worse!"

Dahlquist snorted at her friend's outcry, "what will they do, eh? Give me _more_ detention?"

Lily's voice was tired, as though she'd had this discussion before, "don't get so worked up." She said.

"Vorked oop? 'Ow can you tell eef I am vorked oop?"

(you may notice that Dahlquist's words have turned here into an indecipherable mess. No, I am not insane, I merely wish to display the fact that by this stage, her accent was so thick that you could barely make out individual words. Don't worry, when she calms down, I will return to her usual, understandable speech.)

I could tell Lily was smiling, "your accent, Lee. It always gives it away."

Dahlquist sniffed disdainfully and made to say something else, but Lily's voice started up again, sounding hurried.

"Oh, James wants to talk to Sirius, can you….."

The mirror was thrust back into my hands. I could see James' eyes glittering at me.

"You bastard. I don't want to talk to your girlfriend. Why did you give her the mirror?" James frowned slightly, "geez, Padfoot. I didn't realise it was some big secret. Now, does she know about you?"

His voice had dropped to a whisper, causing Dahlquist, in the corner again, to adopt a look of complete superiority and disdain. Could it be more obvious that we were discussing her?

I myself would rather have discussed what I saw as James' betrayal, but I knew that, in public, that was not a possibility.

"yeah, yeah," I said, voice at a normal level, "but that's not a problem." I stole a glance in her direction, and she was watching me unabashedly, eyes glinting, "yet."

"Good, good, my man. I'm sure that you can sort it all out, yeah? Just talk to her like you do to all those others, ok?"

I smiled at my friend. James Potter.

God, how I miss him.

"Alright, Prongs," hesitantly, I risked, "but, please, mate, don't share _everything_ with Evans. I mean, she's gorgeous, but, you know, she doesn't have to be involved in everything?"

"Sure thing, sure thing," there was a pause, "Remus is upstairs."

"Ah."

"He, uh, doesn't know what happened last night."

"I'm sure," this presented a problem. Trust James to leave the difficult things to me, "ok, I can talk to him once I get out."

"How long would that be?"

"oh, about….." I estimated, and glanced at Dahlquist. The look of intense frustration on her face was enough to show that not much time had passed, "fifty minutes, maybe?"

"Ok," James nodded at me, "ok. Um, Peter wants to say hello."

"Sure, I guess, seeing as we're just passing these things around. Any professors who want to see me? Any random students around?"

"Ok, fine. Well, he says 'hi' and that he's sorry you're in trouble."

"Ok. That's all fine."

James grinned at me, "so very gracious…..so noble. Alright, Black. Time to say goodbye." "Goodbye, mein lieber," I said to him, sarcastically. I was not aware that I was copying Dahlquist.

"Bye, Mr Black."

And Dahlquist and I were left in relative silence, alone in the dungeons.

It was me who broke it.

"You knew it was me." I stated simply, and Dahlquist eyed me for a moment and then sighed tiredly.

"I realised later," she told me, eyes travelling down to my rolled up sleeve.

An observant person would be able to see the faint lines running in perfect parallel down the length of my arm, claw marks that Dahlquist herself had carefully examined the night before.

I tried not to let my discomfort show, instead, flexing my lower arm, watching the play of muscle beneath lightly tanned skin.

"The eyes, as well," she was saying now, "gave you away."

I remembered then; Dahlquist had a thing for my eyes. That was a mistake, because then I was stuck with a loop of her leaning in to kiss me stuck in my mind.

I shook my head, "and so, I suppose you know the rest?"

"I 'ave guessed," was her answer, but her rrrs were rolling and I knew she was irritated.

"About Remus, and …."

"Per'aps," she suggested quietly, "eet is best not to say,"

I closed my mouth.

For a second, anyway, "so why were you there?"

Dahlquist looked up at me in shock, "what?"

"Why were you at the shack?"

She sighed and looked almost nervously into the distance.

I thought that she wouldn't answer, but she did, and when she did, the words she chose to utter chilled me to the bone.

"Remus," she said almost to quietly to hear, "told me to meet 'im zere. 'e told me zat 'e 'ad somezing to show me."

….

God. Even now I feel sick writing about it.

You know, mysterious somebody, Remus is not a bad man, he never was.

When I think about it, the only flaw he has ever had is being so lonely, and that is hardly a flaw.

Of course, I could hardly believe what she told me, but I knew that it was true.

Even now, I try often to convince myself that he was not trying to bite her, that it was innocent, that it was a mistake.

God knows he regretted his own rash actions enough the next day.

I never told James the reason Dahlquist was there that night, and I never let on to Remus that anything had happened.

That is understandable; that is friendship.

But what really amazed me was Dahlquist's actions.

She never told on Remus, or let on that she knew of his condition. Instead, she went to see him not the next day, apologising for missing their meeting, saying something had come up.

To this day, he still does not know how close he came to killing her that night. She never told him, you see, and now she never will.

And I never will.

After all, Remus is all I have left in the world.

Remus, and Harry.

And Bella


	8. Chapter 8

_"I'm sooo sorry this has taken so long...i got a little sidetracked with school and all. hopefully this'll fly thick and fast now it's holidays._

_hope you enjoy."_

Our weekly detentions lasted two months.

Each Wednesday, at seven precisely, either Slughorn or Macgonnagal would wait in their respective classrooms- ready to 'detain' us.

At approximately quarter past, I would turn up, smile charmingly and take a seat in the back- legs on the desk, eyes closed.

About fifteen minutes later, Dahlquist would saunter in without acknowledging the teacher, then take a seat in the back as far away from me as was humanly possible.

I'm not sure how long exactly we could have continued our mutual silence and 10m distance while still classifying the hour as 'bonding', but considering the stubbornness both Dahlquist and I possessed, I can safely assume that it would have been a while.

However, after about two weeks had passed, I turned up to detention, expecting to sink into our comfortable and well-established separation, only to see that all of the desks were gone. Save two, placed resolutely next to each other.

Dahlquist came in earlier than usual that day; I felt her presence behind me without needing to look. Of course, she took the change in our arrangement quite coolly in her stride. With a disdainful sniff, she strode past me into the room, stealing the better desk.

Macgonnagal was behind it. Of that I am sure.

She had vanished the desks. Who else would think of such a devious plan? And which other teacher would seriously want to encourage a bond between the school's most notorious rebels? No, it was definitely Macgonnagal- and she had not yet finished executing her scheme. Not too long after the desk fiasco, she began to leave the room for twenty minutes each week, giving Dahlquist and myself free reign of the classroom. Alone. Together.

Of course, within seconds of her exit, my mirror would jump out of my pocket and I would talk to James. I'm not sure what Dahlquist did, for all that she was sitting next to me. Probably sat around pondering her own amazingness, or something.

It was the fifth week when James announced that he was suddenly 'too busy' to talk, and I caught a glint of red hair behind his face in the mirror.

"Bastard." I hissed.

"Who?" Dahlquist, who had angled herself as far from me as possible, regarded me from under hooded eyes.

"James," I told her, "he's with Evans,"

Dahlquist snorted, stretching out languidly before leaning forwards to say to me. "She is ridiculous about him. I wish they would just get this over with."

I nodded, "far too much of a lead-up."

"I have never been a fan of long courtships. They always seem so forced." Dahlquist wrinkled her nose in disgust, "so outdated."

I slapped a hand down on the desk in agreement. "Me too. They're pretentious and sappy. I'm all for out and out dating." I felt incredibly grateful to have found a fellow hater of romance. That is, until I realized just who I was talking to.

Dahlquist smiled her evil little smile at my sudden (and brief) flash of discomfort, and there was a slightly awkward silence as we both considered the situation.

You see, mysterious somebody, once we began to talk, Dahlquist and I were reminded of all the things we had in common. And this made it difficult to despise each other.

Of course, that didn't stop us from trying.

Whenever this had happened in the past, we would usually clam up upon the realization that we were getting along, and then one of us would utter some insult, and the war would begin again.

I'm not sure why that didn't happen on this particular day. Certainly I was all for getting back to our fighting, but Dahlquist (ever the temperamental and impulsive little shit) apparently had other plans.

She glanced out the window for a second, and as I watched, gave a little frown. And then, too quickly for me to register, she had turned back to meet my gaze, her eyes cool and nonchalant. I knew her expression was a mirror of my own.

"I never finished what I was trying to say to you." She said, eventually, her tone cool and detached.

Despite the fact that the incident to which she referred had happened over a month ago, I knew instantly what it was she was talking about.

A very large part of me wanted to smirk and tell her "that's because you were too busy screwing the male half of the school." But it was the slow part, and the minority got in there first, saying, "why don't you finish it now?"

She sighed and tapped her fingers in a restless tattoo against the desktop. "Where was I? Ah, yes. I did not like you because you were pretentious in your efforts to be anything other than what you are. I was going to continue on and say that, when I actually spoke to you for the first time, I felt that you were better than that. I felt I _understood_ you better. I tried to communicate this to you, via the mouth."

It was either the strange wording of someone who was not born speaking English, or a less than subtle reminder of….

"The kiss."

"Yes." Dahlquist confirmed with a pretty smile (as always, pretty and malicious and completely knowing), which faded into a grimace of annoyance as she said, "but then you were so arrogant the next day. And when I spoke to you again, it was with Bella right by our side, and she brought out the worst in you, and so I thought you were weak." I let out a low, sarcastic whistle.

"I'm so glad you decided to share these thoughts with me." I drawled, but she continued, ignoring me completely.

"But you're not weak." She considered, "you _are_ stupid. But weak? No. You proved that when you saved my life. And you proved it again when you saved Remus from the truth."

So she knew that I had not mentioned the true events of that night. I felt sorry for her then, despite myself, because the troubled expression on her face told me that she was thinking about Remus, who had stayed a fair distance away from her since that night. You may think that this was cruel of him, mysterious somebody. But it wasn't. He didn't act out of any suspicion that something had come to pass and a desire to cover his tracks, but out of guilt at what he had tried to engineer.

He no longer trusted himself with her. More than that, he no longer felt he deserved to be her friend. He'd betrayed her- even if he thought she didn't know it.

He still stared at her, but he would do no more than answer her politely, and awkwardly at that, whenever she addressed him. Their friendship was over.

Dahlquist broke through my reverie with a quiet, though admittedly shocking, "we should be friends, you and I."

I looked at her.

Whenever I have been asked that question, the faces of those asking have always let them slip easily into categories.

There are those who have admired you, and are nervous in your presence. They avoid all eye contact and flare red like a beacon. Think of Peter, who was so very sickeningly enthusiastic.

There are those who have every confidence of a positive answer, those who primp and preen- who wear slow, smug smiles.

There are those who are appraising, like James once was, looking you over as though reasonably sure that you're a good match for them.

There are those who are not quite eager for your friendship, who appear polite but not desperate. For these, it is clear that a refusal would disappoint, but not devastate them. Remus was one such.

But Dahlquist did not fall into any of there categories.

She met my eyes evenly, chin lifted in a manner which was ever so subtly defensive, hair tucked messily behind her ears, hands clasped loosely on the table.

She looked at me. Not in an enthusiastic way- she was too cool. Not in a self-assured way- she was too smart. Not in a laidback way- she was too interested. And not in an appraising way, because her eyes said quite clearly that she knew me, and knew I was a good match for her, and she was putting this proposal forward for the good of us both.

And that impressed me. And she intrigued me. And I knew nobody would expect it and I do _so_ like to shock. So I didn't hesitate much before I said, "yes, Dahlquist, that seems like a good idea."

Dahlquist smiled slightly. Not a relieved smile or a satisfied smile- not even her usual malicious smile, but the smile of a friend. "this," she told me, "will be interesting."

I nodded in agreement, slowly allowing myself to consider the possibilities of this friendship. It would, no doubt, be most entertaining if we managed not to kill each other, "Dahlquist, it will be _beyond_ interesting."

"I suppose, if we're friends, you should call me 'Lee'." Dahlquist said, sounding slightly bored. I assumed this was the early stage of our friendship where we established the relationship. Basically, it was paperwork, and Dahlquist didn't seem like one to enjoy preliminaries and procedures.

I considered her suggestion, "everybody calls you Lee," I pointed out, "I want to call you something different."

She scoffed, "because you're _so_ very special, Black." She drawled, but she didn't protest. I grinned at her nonchalance, but kept a wary eye on her. One of the things I had always admired about Dahlquist was her cool, collected exterior- a barely there layer concealing her intense recklessness and passion. For all I knew, the idea of me giving her a nickname filled her with rage, and she'd attack me any second. For all her playfulness, she was temperamental and unpredictable. She looked all sweet and beautiful, but she had claws.

And then it struck me- what she reminded me of. When I looked at her, the animal which hazed into existence at the back of my mind was a predator. Sleek and fast, very formidable, it would spring unpredictably in a second, leaving you far too shocked to fight back.

Of course, to give her any sort of elegant nickname would give her more power than I wanted. No, this was Dahlquist, and we weren't going to be a friendship full of wank and 'feelings'. My nickname had to be something demeaning.

I had it.

"_Cheton"_ I addressed her, and it seemed to fit.

Dahlquist, however, looked skeptical, "kitten?" she asked, tipping her head to one side and tapping her nose.

I shrugged, "well, you'll be a wild cat someday, but for now, you still have some growing up to do."

I wondered what her reaction would be, but never would I have been able to imagine it. She _laughed_. A light, amused, tinkling laugh which made her seem sweeter than she actually was.

"If you wish," Dahlquist- Aurelie- said eventually, that laugh still curving her lips into a smile, "and I will of course address you as _chien."_

"Naturally," I said with a grin.

"Naturally," she replied with a smile.

…..

I have just had the most invigorating discussion with Snape.

I was walking down the stairs, having just finished up writing to you for the night, and he was walking in the door. I'm not sure where it was that he was coming from, but he looked. The dim light from the lamps smoothed out the harsh lines of his face, and suddenly he looked less angry. Less bitter.

He looked, in fact, almost like an actual person for a moment there, and I felt a pang of remorse at not knowing him in the slightest. Because, for a second there, he seemed like a stranger- a person I had yet to meet and had no reason to dislike.

And then he saw me, and his eyes lost their wistful quality, and his mouth shot down into a well-practiced sneer. His eyebrows tilted disdainfully as he looked down his long nose at me and intoned, "The weather's nice tonight, isn't it?"

That was all he said.

That was _it_.

For anyone else, it would have been a mere thought- an observation not intended to be anything else. But when _Snape_ uttered it, it became a grave insult- an accusation of cowardice.

With my mind on happier times, I was willing to let it pass, because this was not the Snape of my past, that Snape was a zitty, awkward, teenager with a need for love that was never assuaged. I was half in, half out of reality, and so I was old enough to look back with pity on the young Snape and at the same time did not think of the older, smarmy bastard with the greasy hair as a nemesis.

"Molly's made dinner. Shouldn't be too long," I told him, sharply, yes, because, kind thoughts or no, I was still myself, and I would never be truly nice to Snape.

"Did you help?" Snape asked with another sneer (such a collection you will never see again), "is that your grand contribution to the cause? Did you lay out the cutlery?"

Whatever pleasant thoughts I was having disappeared with that dig. I rounded on him. "No," I told him with a menacing smile, unwittingly baring my teeth like the dog I was. "I can think of another place I'd much rather stick a knife…"

"Still falling back on muggle combat, I see." Snape said with an exaggeratedly contemptuous sigh.

"Well, you see, not all of us find them inferior," I snapped back at him, no longer leaning on the banister so much as clutching at it in my anger,

"It would be hard to be inferior to _you_." Snape told me, no longer bothering to veil his loathing. Who was there to perform for, after all? Why bother pretending we no longer hated each other.

Once, he would have cowered. Once he might've cursed me. But as we grew older, he had learnt to fight with words more readily. They cut deeper, and you'd be hard pressed to find a spell which left such a scar.

"Well, you seem to manage it alright," I told him with a lazy grin. The expression was an odd mixture of foreign and familiar on my features. Once upon a time, it was always on my face. But I'd had little to smile about of late, and certainly nothing to inspire this _particular_ smile. My triumphant smile.

_Proud of yourself, I see._ Was what _she_ would always say when that grin spread across my features.

"Yes." Snape rejoined now, "I can manage several things too daunting for some, such as, say, leaving the house, being of use….."

"I shudder to think of the person pathetic enough to find _you_ useful." I told him, but his comments stung more than I cared to admit.

I hated Snape. He was cruel, and socially _impossible_ to like. His hygiene was questionable and his taste in clothing dubious and yet, despite everything I could do that he could not, he was the one braving You Know Who's lair. He was the hero.

"It is sad that you feel that way about yourself, because how else would you hear the news, know what is being said, but for me?" Snape's smile was cruel. "_You _need me, Black. I bet you never even saw it coming." He sounded triumphant, and his sloe eyes gleamed.

"You know who really _didn't_ need you?" I asked with a hiss, striking at the one place I knew would hurt him. His eyes closed a little, as though he too was anticipating my words. "Lily didn't need you. Not one little bit. I know, she trusted me, loved me, even. And, in all those years without you following her around by like particularly greasy little Chihuahua, she never once voiced even the tiniest little bit of remorse that you weren't there."

That stung him. That stung him a lot. You could see it in his face, but his response was not the biting one I would have expected.

"I'm not the only one who didn't get their happy ending, remember that." He hissed at me, "where's your lover, Black? Where's your perfect job, and your perfect home and your perfect, perfect family? Where's your little girl, Black?"

"Shut up." I barked at him, fingers digging deeper into the banister, gouging little fingernail shaped crescents out of the wood

"See, Lily left me before she knew what we could have had. What happened to you though, Black? She left you _after_. You weren't good enough for her. She left you, pregnant and all, and she never even told you whether it was a boy or a girl, did she? Did she even _talk_ to you again? Did she even-"

I don't know what he said next, because I had calmly strode back up the stairs and into Reg's room, slamming the door behind me.

Because everything he said is true, mysterious somebody. I didn't even know if she'd gone through with it until Harry said your name.

Hell, I would have sworn that she hadn't, because it was so unlike her.

Irresponsible. Sulky. Petulant. Immature.

Perhaps it was like her, and yet, could she not have contacted me? At least once more? She left, after all months and months before I was arrested. She had time to forgive me. Yet she did not.

Why not, mysterious somebody?

Did she have any idea just how much she hurt me?

Selfish, she always called me. Maybe she was right.

Selfish.

I can't write any more tonight, mysterious somebody. I just can't.

….

_It sounds like you and she have a lot in common_

_Do I detect yet another unsuitable romance on the way?_

_(Though I can think of a fair few people who'd find it very suitable indeed- can you imagine your mother's face? It'd be like Christmas for her.)_

_I can see it now- a winter wedding, I think. And you could spite your mother by refusing to let her attend.. Or, knowing you, you'd take the name 'Dahlquist' and ruin the Black legacy. That would send Aunt Walburga up the wall._

I smiled as I read over the letter.

"Andi, is it?"

I smiled at James, "Yeah. She's due soon. And the baby's sent her insane already." I returned my attention to the letter, hoping against hope that Andi was finished with her little fantasy.

Dahlquist was _not_ a romantic interest.

_Well, while gossip and speculation never cease to amuse, I actually wrote to ask you about Bella and Sissy._

Shit

_I haven't heard a thing from either of them. That's only to be expected I suppose, but it hurts none the less._

_How are they? Are they well? Is Sissy stillm with that Malfoy boy? Is Bella studying at all? Are they still close? Please tell me Bella is with a better crowd!_

Shit. Shit.

_I'm sorry, I shouldn't bother you, I'm sure you're looking out for them._

_Well, I have to go, Ted says hello to you and sends his regards._

_(He would have sent his 'love', but I know that you only perceive that word in one way, and I hardly wanted to give you the wrong impression. The word 'platonic' is not in your vocabulary, I'm certain)_

Harsh thing for her to say, I thought. Especially in a letter.

_I send my love, though, to you and to Bella and Sissy, when you next speak to them._

_See you soon!_

_Andi_

_PS: What do you think about the name Laeticia Rose, for the baby?_

I smiled. Andi had been thinking of names for a while now, each as terribly strange as the next. She was sure the baby was a girl, and nothing I said could convince her otherwise. Nothing seemed to amuse her so much as rolling out unlikely names. Laeticia Rose was a tame suggestion, compared to her usual ideas.

Beside me, James stretched out like a cat, eyes scrunched shut behind his glasses.

Sometimes he still reminded me of a child; the way he slept with his mouth wide open, the way he ate….none of that had changed since he was 11years old. But the gleam that came into his eyes when he talked about Lily, or even _thought_ about Lily (yes, it was that obvious), that was new.

"James! Sirius!" the squeak brought us back to the world, accompanied as it was by a loud thump as our visitor tripped over on something, probably upending the coffee table in the process.

"Mmhhph?" James answered sleepily.

Peter scrambled over to us on hands and knees. "Honestly, Peter, off the floor." I sighed, helping him up with one arm.

He seemed overwrought, "I saw…." He began, "I saw…I saw Snape talking to Mcnair. And they,…..they….they were talking about some kind of club that they had, that they called the 'Death Somethings'…."

I didn't want to burst Peter's bubble, but I couldn't really listen to much more. "I don't really care all that much about Snape's limited social activities, Pete." I drawled. "Just leave him to his own pathetic business." Hearing about Snape's little tea-parties was _not_ how I wanted to spend my time.

Disappointed, he turned to James, who was asleep.

"Let him sleep," I suggested, kindly. "He's been a bit tired lately, what with Lily and all."

Peter's eyes darkened suddenly, briefly, at the mention of Lily. I wondered absently if he were jealous of James. She _was_ pretty good looking.

He nodded and sunk down into the chair next to me, shifting his position rapidly, like he couldn't get comfortable. Ignoring him, I touched my quill to the parchment, considering what to write.

Finally, he turned to me and said, "Flitwick's out of order, giving us all that homework."

I sighed loudly, "Pete," I said, "I'm actually writing a letter here,"

I was, too. Replying to Andi always took a lot of effort. She was forever asking questions, so there was no time to consider homework, or flitwick or any of that.

"Right," there was a brief, and heavenly, period of silence. Then, "I don't understand this potions assignment. Do you?"

"Mmph."

_Sorry about addressing this to Ted, Andi. I'd send it to you, only you're so obviously delusional that I'm worried it would get torn up or you would forget to open it. Or, I guess considering the recent tenor of your letters, you might suddenly decide to eat it for a midnight snack. These 'pregnancy cravings' sound made up- are you sure that they're normal?_

_Dahlquist is well, thanks for asking._

_So are James, and Peter and Remus, in case you were wondering about the health of the rest of my friends, seeing as you asked so nicely after one of them._

_School is crap right now. Assignments are piling up and I can't be bothered doing them. They're so boring. Do teachers do that on purpose, do you think? Maybe they're so dissatisfied with their own sad, pathetic, teachery lives that their only source of pleasure is our pain. I think this could be the answer that teenagers around the world have been searching for since God knows when._

As though reminding me he was still there, Pete made an unnecessarily loud coughing noise.

"Mmph." I said, sympathetically.

_Incidentally, how dare you deny me Ted's love. I live on such declarations! Send him a ton of mine, will you?_

Peter muttered something I couldn't make out, so I answered with the never failing, "mmph."

"I said, who are you writing to?"

"Huh?"

"Is it Andi?"

"Oh, yeah."

_What's all this, 'see you soon' by the way, Andi? Planning on coming back to school? Or have you finally dredged up my address using your amazing network of spies? I'd been hoping to keep it secret, actually. I'm proud of my current abode._

Now came the hard part; Bella and Sissy.

"Mmph," I answered Peter, just in case he was waiting for a reply. He had fallen uncharacteristically silent.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Er," I turned to Peter. He was an unattractive kid, with pasty skin, watery eyes which were a blue so pale and washed out you tended to ignore them, flat, mousy hair which was thin enough that the shape of his skull was easy to discern even then, and a large, somehow flaccid looking mouth, which seemed too pale, too big and too wet.

"I asked if Andi had mentioned me? She used to ask after me."

"Nah," I answered without thinking, "she asked after Chet…I mean, Lee, but not you."

He looked so crestfallen that I had to amend with, "she didn't ask after James, even. Or Remus." There it was again, that flash of something hostile in those eyes. I hastened to reassure him, "I'm serious, Petey, she didn't ask after anyone out of us. Only Lee."

"Yeah," he seemed calm, "only Lee."

He was silent for a bit, and I waited for him to say something else, but he just fidgeted around a bit, looking mildly determined.

"Uh, I'll say hi for you then?"

Peter nodded enthusiastically, and the awkward moment passed

And then I heard a light, feminine sigh, and felt someone's breath on my neck and a hand on my shoulder, and my heart leapt as I thought _Aureile._

But when a ton of red hair swung down beside me, blocking James from view, I felt embarrassed by my own excitement.

How could it be Lee, anyway? I reasoned. We're in Gryffindor, and our students aren't the sort to let in the riff raff. With a sigh, I turned my attention back to my assailant.

"Lily," I said with a forced smile.

"Hey." She sat opposite me, legs curling underneath her gracefully, "James is tired, then?"

"No. He's just bursting with vitality," I said dryly. As if to accent my sarcasm, James snorted inelegantly in his sleep.

Lily wrinkled her nose as though in disgust, but I could see the warmth in her eyes. I so hoped she wouldn't talk. "So who are you writing to?"

Cruel fate

"My cousin," I told Lily, scratching my quill across the parchment, penning some inane comment in a last ditch effort to get them to leave me alone

"Which cousin?"

I was trying not to scream. Why could nobody seem to process that I was _busy_!

"Andi. Andromeda. Bella's sister."

"Oh, I know." Lily said in a hushed voice, "how is she?"

"Fine."

"Have they got a house yet, because I know that…."

"Do you and Peter want to go do something?" I suggested brightly, and her mouth thinned into a nearly invisible slit on her face.

"Do you want me to wake James up?" I tried again, and she looked even more pissed off.

"I'm only here," she told me snootily, "to wait for Lee."

This made no sense, "you might want to try the Slytherin dorm. She can't actually get _in _here, see."

Lily's mouth was nonexistent, "she's getting in with a friend," I was informed.

I snorted, "who?"

"Lily! Mon cher. How are you? It has been _forever_."

Unbelievable. I was stunned. It couldn't be so, and yet Aureile Dahlquist spun gracefully into the room like she'd been doing it all her life.

"I saw you half an hour ago, Lee." Lily said, rolling her eyes. "But I'm fine. Bit bored. Company's not so….._interesting_ tonight." This was directed at me with a glare, "so unless _you_ have any letters to write, we can be off now."

"I don't write letters." Lee said Boredly, "why would you ask me if I wanted to write letters?"

Lily sighed, "I was just making a point. _Some_ people seem to consider writing letters to be _really_ really important work. Don't they, _Sirius_?" I started to flip her off, but on catching sight of the look on her face, I turned the rude gesture into a sort of half salute at the last minute before returning to my letter. Lily made a satisfied little 'hmph'. "Anyway," she said now, "let's be off, shall we?"

"Of course!" Lee said. "But first, you must tell me what _chien_ has done to you. Obviously it was awful." She considered, "and involves letters? An interesting prospect for consideration."

I smiled to myself and, without looking up from my letter informed her, "your English is getting worse. You sound like a tourist."

I heard a sigh, "I _am_ a tourist. A tourist of life!" my quill was suddenly ripped from my hands. I was torn between irritation and amusement as I turned to face her.

"A bloody irritating tourist at that," I told her.

She was leaning loosely on the back of my chair, twirling my quill around her fingers and batting her eyelashes. "All tourists are irritating," she pointed out, before smiling viciously and incinerating my poor quill with a flick of her wand.

"Oi." I snapped, annoyed now. "I was using that."

Lee gave a nonchalant shrug. I _hated_ her nonchalant shrugs. With a scowl, I drew my own wand and shot a curse at her skirt. It was a mean thing to do- it sort of… unraveled clothes. Rapidly.

Luckily, Lee was –for once- wearing a skirt that wasn't short enough to offend religious groups. So the entire thing frayed up til her mid thighs, where she lazily stopped it with a counter curse, to the disappointment of the entire male population of Gryffindor. I cackled, and she raised an eyebrow, "proud of yourself, are you?" she asked with a posh sniff.

And so, thoroughly satisfied that we were even, we fell into comfortable silence. She flopped down on the armrest of my chair.

"So why are you here?" I asked her, abandoning my letter completely, "a kitten doesn't normally enter the dog's den."

"Den?" she scoffed, "kennel. And I am not _entering_ so much as taking over. You can think of it as an invasion, if you like."

"Honestly, cheton," I smiled at her, "why can you not just follow the rules?"

"Rules! Pah." She waved a hand dismissively, before draping her legs across the back of the chair so that she was lying upside-down on the armrest. I snorted at her, and she nonchalantly reached out to crumple my letter. "Are we going now?" she asked Lily, less than concerned that I'd pulled the letter to safety.

"Where?" I asked and Lily daggered me.

"So _now_ you're interested?" she snapped.

Lee, however, was in a good mood, and smiled charmingly, flipping back into an upright position. "Swimming." She sighed. "In the lake. It will be beautiful."

"With such lovely girls as you around, anywhere is beautiful," I told her, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"He is _such_ a flirt!" Lee decreed with a flick of her hand. I grabbed her wrist and planted a kiss on it, "could I be otherwise, when surrounded by such gorgeousness?"

Lee rolled her eyes and dug her nails into the skin of my hand until I let go of her wrist. "Kittens have claws," she murmured sweetly in French, before tapping my nose with her newly liberated hand.

"Play hard to get all you like," I told her, and even Lily smiled a little, though she masked it with another glare in my direction. Bored, Lee flounced over to another armchair and sank down into it, kicking her feet up on the footrest and sighing. She looked relaxed, but her glittering eyes belied her casual posture; she was excited. And with Lee, that often meant dangerous.

Nearby, James snored loudly, and Lily sighed, leaning over and shaking him gently awake. "Morning, sunshine," she said with an amused smile as he struggled into bleary consciousness, "have a nice nap?"

"What… time..huh?" he asked, looking more than ever like a lost, sleepy child. There was a slightly awkward moment in which Lily and James stared into each other's eyes with a shy, scared kind of tenderness which made Dahlquist grin disdainfully and me feel sick.

"A leetle afterr 10," Lee told him, smile still curving her lips, amusement thickening her accent.

That snapped them apart pretty fast, like an electric shock. Neither wanted to admit feelings for the other, or let anybody else get an inkling of their own besottedness.

Not that their attempts at subtlety were particularly effective.

"Ten?" Lily asked with a frown, "we'd better get going, Lee."

Lee nodded, stretched herself out like a cat, and stood quickly. "Yes, we had better." She sauntered towards the portrait hole, then turned on her heel, quite suddenly. "Ah, James." She began with a too-innocent smile, "do you want to come as well?"

James cast a quick look at Lily, and then a quicker look at me, before giving a casual nod, as though he _wasn't_ wetting himself in excitement. "Yeah, sure. Why not?"

"It will be cold," I told him with a sly smile, "the lake, I mean. Cold to be swimming."

"Swimming?"

Lily sighed at the look of confusion on James' face. "We're not _actually_ swimming," she told me patiently, "that's just Lee being funny. It's just a picnic."

"We will be swimming," Lee corrected her.

"Just Lee's little joke," Lily gave a light laugh, but shot an unamused look at her friend.

"Swimming in the lake," Lee affirmed, oblivious.

I grinned at the two of them. It was a mystery how they had become friends.

"Why," I asked Lee with a smile, "are you in such a good mood? You haven't insulted anyone yet." I considered, my smile fading, "wait- are you sick?"

She looked over at me with such complete disdain I felt it like heat waves in the air, "per'aps," she said sweetly, "you are too below my interest for me to bother with the insults."

"Perhaps," I countered, "I am too beyond perfect for you to think of any."

She sashayed over to me, smiling a little, "I think," she said, leaning down and whispering in my ear, "that you and I have different definitions of perfect."

I laughed, "let's go with mine, shall we? Seeing as I'm the one who can actually speak English.

But she was gone.

I turned to Lily, "how did she get in?"

"Who?" I turned in surprise. Lupin had descended the dorm stairs and was watching me bemusedly, "someone pretty, I guess. You've got that 'look' on your face."

I was speechless.

Well, almost speechless, "look?" I asked.

Lupin made to answer, but suddenly the smile fell from his face and he stared at the door in shock.

"You know, everybody says that _I_ am inconsiderate of people- everybody says that _I_ am always late. Yet here I am- ready to go and you lot are just _lounging_ about like complete….."

Lee's tirade came to an abrupt end as she caught sight of Remus, and a beatific smile lit up her face, "Remus," she laughed, "how perfect. I haven't seen you in _such_ a long time- you should come…" but Remus had turned on his heel and gone back up the stairs.

There was an awkward moment in which we all stood around, smiling nervously at each other.

"I-uh," James scratched his head awkwardly, "I don't reckon he heard you." He said gently, and Lee gave a listless sort of shrug. Clearly still feeling the tension of the moment, James cleared his throat and grinned. "Shall we go, then?" he asked cheerfully, and Lily shot him a grateful smile.

"Well, I'm all set" I said with a sigh, "I reckon I'll even try this damn swimming of Lee's." I waited for Lee's typical rejoinder, but she was staring at the floor, expression troubled.

Despite myself, I was concerned. Quickly, I walked to her side, placing a hand on her elbow, "cheton?" I prompted.

Still looking at the ground, her shoulders began to shake- was she.. crying? But no, she lifted her head to and let loose peals of laughter, "honestly, Black." She drawled, "it's like you can't ever pass up an opportunity to get close to me."

"Never," I answered, but I was worried, though everyone else had relaxed the second she began to laugh.

Lee had regained her vivaciousness and charm after her lapse, but it seemed forced now, and hard. Her eyes glittered dangerously, and her smile seemed to be more of a grimace to my eyes.

"Are you sure that you're alright?" I asked her quietly, and she shook her head free of thoughts, "I am fine." She told me sternly. "Now, we have a picnic to attend."

…..

Though I had never before seen the guy by the lake, I knew at once that he was trouble.

"Who is that?" I asked James, who rolled his eyes.

"You are the most self absorbed.." he didn't finish his sentence, he was too bemused. "You really don't recognise Kingsley?"

I peered at the boy waiting by the lake, and to my surprise, a flash of recognition hit me. Him too, it seemed, because he smiled at me as I approached. Kingsley had hung around with James and I for a while, but recently we'd begun moving in different circles. With such contrasting timetables, we only saw each other at meals, which I never attended anyway.

"Black," he greeted me.

"Shacklebolt," I replied with a nod, shoving my hands in my pockets against the cold. "Couldn't wait for an invitation?"

Kingsley frowned slightly, "sorry?"

I rolled my eyes and clapped him on the back, "ah, he's as innocent as a lamb." I laughed. "You're crashing a party, my friend, but we can let it slide."

His frown smoothed and Kingsley gave a great laugh, "now who's the innocent?" he asked, giving me a friendly punch in the arm. "I helped to plan this thing. Glad you could make it. I suppose Lee invited you?"

A small frown creased my brow. Kingsley was in Gryffindor too, about my age, though he seemed older. He was also one of the best students Hogwarts had ever seen, when it came to defence against the dark arts. I had no idea he knew Lee.

In this situation, mysterious somebody, I believe it is customary to _ask_ how your two friends know each other. But I always hated to appear ignorant, and though seething at my lack of knowledge, I remained quiet. "That's right," I answered with a grin, "I guess you know we're friends, then?"

But Kingsley wasn't listening. He had spotted the others coming down the hill and was smiling contentedly at them. And by 'others' I don't mean just Lily, James and Lee. By now, it was a veritable swarm of students, collected by Lee along the way- Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and even a few Slytherins. It was basically a party.

Kingsley certainly thought so. As I watched, he tilted his head back, watching them approach as though looking for something. Just as this thought crossed my mind, a figure detached itself from the group and flew down the hill at breakneck speed.

"Mon cherie," he murmured in an atrocious French accent just before the figure flung herself into his arms, "you're enthusiastic tonight, aren't you?"

I felt a vague sense of foreboding.

"Mon ami," was Lee's reply, and I felt stupid, "you know me too well." I felt myself grin at the sarcasm in her voice, but Kingsley didn't seem to pick it up.

"Just a friend?" he was asking now, undeterred. "No kiss?"

Lee smiled wickedly at him, "friends get two kisses," she reminded him, planting one on each cheek.

"I can live with that." Kingsley looked almost smug.

"Of course," Lee stepped out of his arms and surveyed the scene with a critical eye, "although I may not give you the chance. Where are the blankets? The food?" She turned to him with her hands on her hips.

Kingsley looked vaguely sheepish as the others reached us, "I couldn't get much food, and the only blanket available is staying where it belongs. On my bed."

Lee gave him a look of grave disapproval.

Lily sighed loudly, "so now what? I'm going to get all wet."

James, however, was reasonably resourceful on occasion and immediately unclipped his cloak, "not if I can help it," he told her, obviously aiming for 'dashing'. With a smug smile, he set it down on the wet grass. She sat gracefully down, beaming at him as he lowered himself beside her.

Lee stood on my left, looking pointedly at the lake.

I sighed. "Why couldn't chivalry have died?" I asked of the sky, "I'm going to freeze." Reluctantly, I unclasped my cloak, throwing it into a heap on the floor. Or rather I made to, before I saw Kingsley doing the same. He grinned at me, teeth white against his skin, as he saw our actions mirroring each other.

"Lee?" I asked, smoothing the wrinkles in my cloak out so that it would lie flat, something I had not even considered bothering with moments before. I realized then just how important ironing was- my cloak was a mess.

"Here you go," Kingsley said at the same time, smiling up at her and sitting himself down in a way that meant she would have to curl in his arms.

Raising an eyebrow at me, Lee deposited herself next to Kingsley, not in his arms but close enough. I caught the look in that expression _what are you doing?_ She was asking me.

"It's cold," Peter said. To my surprise, he was sitting on his cloak, which he had laid out next to mine.

I hadn't noticed he'd come along.

Opposite me, Kingsley was whispering sweet nothings into Lee's ear. If I hadn't been so sure of her weakness for bad boys, I might've been concerned.

No, I thought, I would never have been concerned. It wasn't like I liked her or anything like that. Lee was not my type. Too arrogant and too smart.

My type was someone like…..I scanned the group in search of a candidate. "Alice," I said, a smile on my lips, "you look cold."

Alice smiled at me, her round face pale in the moonlight, "oh, yeah, I am a little, Sirius." She said cautiously.

I patted the spot next to me and she shyly placed herself within reach. Barely. With a sigh, I said, "I don't bite, you know."

I heard Lee's snort, but chose to ignore it. That was _one_ time. Obviously unconcerned with Lee's opinion, Alice slipped under my arm.

"How's Longbottom?" I asked her, but she shook her head.

"Oh, I don't think he was really serious about me. I think it was a one-off thing."

I sighed. "How could anyone not be serious about you?" I asked her, tucking her hair gently behind her ears.

She smiled up at me, and I leant forwards…..

"Lupin said he didn't want to come," my head snapped around. I hadn't heard Peter talking, "he said he didn't like the present company."

"Pete!" I snapped quietly, but Lee was sitting upright, eyes fixed on him.

"What?" she asked.

Peter smiled, and I saw a flash of that same, strange darkness in his watery eyes, "oh, nothing really. I, uh, guess he just felt sick?"

It was the least convincing lie I had ever heard.

Lee seemed to see that, too. She didn't lie back down, but stayed sitting upright for a few minutes, arms curled around her legs in an effort to keep warm, or so I thought, until she stood abruptly, eyes shining dangerously, and said, "time for the highlight of the evening."

I waited in anticipation. Under my arm, Alice shifted slightly, reminding me she was there. I stroked her hair absently to pacify her. Alice was pretty enough, and nice enough, but hardly likely to get with the bad boy of Gryffindor himself (yours truly). All I was after was fun, and everybody knew that. Even Alice, and somebody as sensible as her wouldn't risk damaging her reputation for one night- she knew there was no chance of a relationship.

But I wasn't paying attention to her anyway, because Lee was now walking down to the edge of the lake, just metres away.

"Lee?" Lily called out, sounding apprehensive. Lee ignored her, removing a shoe, then a sock so that her foot was bare, bright white in the darkness, "Lee, what are you playing at?"

Lee dipped her foot in the black water, sending ripples out in her wake, before pulling her foot back sharply.

"Lee?"

"Eet is a leetle cold," she called back.

"Shit," I cursed and Alice frowned.

"What is it?" she asked, concerned.

I ran a hand through my hair, too distracted by Lee to answer her properly. "Uh, the accent. It means she's upset."

Alice frowned, and at first I thought she was worried, but then she shrugged my arm off and I realised she was jealous. I sighed, really quite disappointed. Apparently she _wasn't_ aware that there wasn't a chance of a relationship. But I didn't think on that for long, because Lee was taking off her robes.

They were left in a pile on the floor, and we were confronted with the sight of Lee wearing nothing but a shirt and her underwear in the freezing winter's night.

"Lee! What the hell are you playing at?" James was calling this time, and Lily had actually stood up.

Lee, undeterred, began to unbutton her shirt, and pulled her tie off of her head, flinging it onto the ground. Kingsley had watched bemused until now, but he stood as she did this and laughed lightly, "skinny dipping?" he asked, making the boys by the lake sit up a little straighter.

And Lee looked back at him over her shoulder. "Silly," she scoffed, "if eet were skinny dipping, I vould not be vearing anyting."

She seemed to consider her own words for a moment, and with a thoughtful look, rebuttoned her shirt, tossed her hair over her shoulder and dived into the lake.

"Shit." I scrambled to my feet, only to see that the rest of the people were doing just that around me, "did anyone really think she'd do that?" I shouted, and Lily looked at me helplessly.

But everyone else seemed amused. A few smatterings of applause broke out, mostly from a few guys who had appreciated the sight of Lee clad in nothing but her underwear and a school shirt (it was a good sight, I will confess).

But what really got me started was Kingsley, who was bloody laughing.

"How is this funny?" I snapped at him, and he looked surprised.

"Is that a genuine question?" he asked, smiling, "Aureile Dahlquist just jumped into the Lake, wearing a shirt and some lacy underwear, and you want to know what's funny."

"And what?" I asked menacingly, "if she doesn't come up again?"

Of course, Lee lived to embarrass me, and her head surfaced just as I intoned this.

"Alright, Lee?" Kingsley called, and she smiled at him, water streaming down her face in rivulets.

"Eet is verrry cold. But good." She announced, and I winced at the sound of her accent. Emotions would be roiling.

"If you say it's good….." Kingsley was saying now, and I noticed with horror he was taking off his shoes.

"God, not you too," I whispered, and he smiled. "Cheton? You are crazy. It's been established. Now if you're finished proving what a badass you are- how about you get out of the water before the squid falls in love with you and drags you away."

She laughed hollowly, and before I knew it, several people were stripping off.

"We're turning into a nudist convention," I lamented. A chubby boy ran past me into the lake squealing like a pig. "Oh god. I'm sure I could've done without that sight."

James laughed, untying his laces, "and since when did you turn into the responsible one?" he asked.

"Someone bloody has to be," I snapped back, and he chuckled, which I found intensely irritating. I had a sense of foreboding the entire time, and my head pounded as I watched Kingsley strip down into his boxers and wade into the water.

No one was brave enough to follow them, mostly just taking their shoes off and dipping their feet in the water before yelping and running away again, splashing all the way.

But Kingsley was in, and so was another girl and boy I thought were from Ravenclaw, and the three of them were gritting their teeth against the cold, and trying to disguise their shivering as laughter.

But Lee loved the cold, and she was swimming like a fish around the place, further and further out into the water, where it was so black you could not even see your own legs beneath you.

People were laughing as they cavorted, the skinny-dipping changed into a game of tag in the shallows, where the waves lapped weakly against the shore. The Ravenclaw girl knuckled first, running from the lake shivering with cold, barely able to walk.

I waited, half watching as a considerate friend place the girl's robe around her shoulders.

The boy caved next, although he managed to walk out, keeping his dignity in tact.

Lily and James were down by the water now, talking quietly. Lily was shaking her head and James was smiling.

It was then, while people jeered at the Ravenclaws, who couldn't stay in the water for ten minutes, that the teachers arrived.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"

McGonagal's voice, magnified twenty times louder than usual, echoed around the grounds. Everybody froze.

She stood at the top of the hill, clad in gumboots and a long green tartan dressing gown.

For the students, this was a moment of swift regret, for they all knew that in other circumstances, this situation would produce great mirth, but as it was they were all too embarrassed to take any pleasure from it.

I, however, am was always in trouble, and so had developed the ability to see the funny side of things, no matter how compromising my situation. "You look lovely, Professor," I called to her, and we could feel her rage snap and writhe inside her from where we were.

"YOU WILL CEASE TO BE IMPERTINENT, MR BLACK, OR YOU WILL CEASE TO BE A MEMBER OF THIS COMMUNITY" her beady eyes caught on Kingsley, who had just emerged from the lake in his boxers, "WERE YOU _SWIMMING_?" she asked, flabbergasted. Then the rage returned full force, "IDIOTIC ADOLESCENTS! WHICH THRILL-SEEKING LUNATIC THOUGHT OF THIS STUNT?" she looked around at us, her eyes snagging on Lily and James and I. She could put two and two together faster than a maths teacher ever could. "MISS DAHLQUIST," she roared, "GET OUT OF THAT INFESTED WATER THIS INSTANT."

Nothing happened.

My stomach dropped.

"DAHLQUIST?" she didn't sound so sure now, and I ran to the edge of the lake, "DAHLQUIST. OUT NOW!"

Nothing.

I stopped at the edge of the lake, feeling its waters soaking through my shoes. I could see nothing but blackness out there.

"MISS DAHLQUIST!"

Suddenly the dark water seemed sinister and dangerous. I like the dark, I always have, but as I stared out at the lake, seeing its shadowy depths merge with the sky, smooth as silk, I began to worry. Frantic worry that clutched at my lungs. Without thinking, I waded into the water, not stopping to remove my shoes or even my robe.

"Dahlquist!" I cried desperately, "Lee! You _absolute _tosser!"

I couldn't move far enough with my clothes sopping wet around me, dragging me down, so I kicked off my drenched shoes and pulled my robe of my head.

"BLACK, YOU WILL GET OUT OF THAT WATER THIS INSTANT!" MacGonnagal would have already called the other teachers. I knew I wouldn't be in there for long, but it was so cold that I could feel my hands numbing as the seconds passed by. "BLACK, WE DO NOT NEED A HERO. YOU ARE NOT A HERO."

No one, mysterious somebody, tells me what I am or am not.

I dived.

At first, the lake looked just as black from inside it. I was confused for a moment or two, because there were stars in the water and the sky, and I felt like I was swimming in space.

But I moved fast, ignoring my limbs, which were bloody sluggish from cold. I was in the middle of the lake in no time.

And I could see her.

"Lee." I hissed, dragging myself toward the body, floating on its back. My teeth were chattering with cold, but fuelled by supreme annoyance with Lee, I powered onwards.

Her hair pooled out around her, and she looked eerily pale, floating there, surrounded by darkness. She was the only point of light I could see.

"Please, don't let her be dead," I muttered, trying to hide my worry. Out loud I called, "you'd better not be dead, Dahlquist, because I want to throttle you."

"Can't you throttle a corpse?"

I fought hard to bury the relief I felt, but it spread through me, lending its warmth to my tired limbs. "I could," I conceded, "but I wouldn't be able to see the results as well."

"Ah," Lee pushed her legs down and swum gracefully over to me.

I felt my heart stop at the sight of her face. Gingerly, she placed a hand on her neck, where long scratches, like claws, ran down to her chest. "Grindylows," she told me with a shrug, "I should 'ave brought my wand."

I didn't say anything, just put an arm around her shoulder and helped her swim to shore.

As we got near enough to see the gathered crowd (now doubled and consisting of nearly all the teachers) I smiled at her.

"You sure you want to continue?" I asked her.

She frowned and I saw her lips were blue, "not with you looking like you're carrying me. How demeaning."

Then she shrugged my arm off and swum up to the beach.

...

"I have been informed," Dumbledore began, mouth turned half up, half down, as though battling between laughter and anger, "that my students have some, shall we say 'differences of opinion' when it comes to the definition of words like 'dormitory', or 'curfew' or 'sleep'"

James grinned.

"This is not a laughing matter," Someone snapped, "can you imagine what would have happened if we hadn't arrived?"

"We would 'ave gone up to bed by now?" Lee offered and I smiled to myself.

MacGonnagal frowned, "you of all people, Miss Dahlquist, should not take such a line. You almost died out there."

"Death by Grindylows," she sighed, "tre embarrassant"

She looked fine now, I'll have you know. No one recovered their cool as quick as Dahlquist. She was still extremely pale, it is true, but her eyes were glowing and her lips were a halfway normal colour. The scratches on her arms and chest were livid against her skin, but obviously not serious, and her uniform clung to her wet self in a flattering way. Her hair fell in snaky tendrils, leaving wet patches on her back. She hadn't let them dry her.

"Well," MacGonnagal said briskly, "I know what my punishment will be. Seeing as you like the lake so much, students, over the next few weeks you will find yourselves removing the pond scum which has accumulated around its edges"

Slughorn looked inspired, "my students will suffer the same fate," he announced, chins quivering with authority.

The Ravenclaws had slunk off, somewhere, which impressed nobody too much. James and I exchanged glances- those Ravenclaws would suffer at breakfast tomorrow.

Now Dumbledore looked over us all. MacGonnagal had stepped back, making way for his long, cutting speech, but his eyes twinkled and he simply said, "well, goodnight" and we were off in a shot.

Walking back up to the dorm, I listened to Dahlquist's shoes squelch along the floor.

"Even you can't appear cool with that as your own personal soundtrack," I told her solemnly, and she sighed, drying herself with a quick incantation.

The others had moved further ahead, now, and I knew that the two of us were out of earshot, so I felt it was safe to ask her what I had been wondering since we'd gotten out of the lake. "Why did you jump in?" I kept my voice as quiet as I could without giving her the chance to pretend she couldn't hear me. "Why did you do that?"

Dahlquist stopped and looked me in the eye. I thought for a moment that she would tell me everything, but of course I was wrong. Dahlquist was never one to share. She gave a half shrug and sighed. "I felt like a swim," was all she said before she turned on her heel and strode calmly off.

I watched her go until the shadows swallowed her up, and just before she disappeared completely in the darkness, I heard her call back to me softly. "Bonne nuit"

Peter was at my side in an instant. "Why did _you_ jump in?" he asked.

It was a question I myself had been studiously avoiding. "She's my friend."

"Would you have jumped in for James?"

"Shut up, Pettigrew," I snapped, and he was quiet for a time.

Then he spoke again, and his voice was low and strange, "you should just have let Shacklebolt rescue her," he told me.

"Huh? Why?"

He smiled slightly. "Well, everyone knows that she's sleeping with him. Rescuing her is his job."

We'd reached the stairs now, and Peter frowned. "I think I'll go for a short walk," he told me. "Goodnight."

And he was gone.

I wondered if he knew that what he'd said had seemed like a punch in the gut, wondered if perhaps he was aware of what his simple words had done to me, of how numb I felt, despite my assurances that I really didn't care.

I wondered if he knew how his words dragged up emotions in me that I truly didn't want- emotions I had been repressing for so long that I'd almost forgotten they were there.

But that was impossible, I told myself as I mounted the stairs. I was being stupid. Just because we were friends didn't mean that I had exclusive rights to Dahlquist; she could sleep with whomever she wished.

I didn't care, I reminded myself. I was being pathetic and taking all my stupidity out on poor Peter, who hadn't meant to hurt me.

Or had he, I wondered as I reached my bed.

Had he?

Because I'd recognised what had seemed off about his tone when he'd told me his gossip, and it was that he had sounded, well, malicious.


	9. Chapter 9

_Dear Sirius_

_I am glad to see that you are as insanely sarcastic as always, and that your wit hasn't deserted you…yet._

_I am huge. I say again, massive._

_Whales have nothing on me._

_One baby? I think I am big enough to be having hundreds. It's ridiculous._

My eyes skimmed over the page quickly, impatiently. I do not find all the minute details about pregnancies amusing, and it isn't as though I can relate, so I thought it was fair enough to skip the passages Andi had dedicated to her bloated feet and irregular bowel movements.

Disgusting.

The end of the letter, however, caught my eye.

_Sirius, I did notice that you didn't mention Sissy or Bella once in your letter._

_You are still talking to them, aren't you?_

_You're still looking after them?_

_I'm sorry to nag- I'm sure you are, you know how much this means to me._

_I just worry about them all the time. I wish I knew how they were. Bella's probably grown another foot since last I saw her, and Sissy's probably become beautiful by now, like Bella did when she turned 15._

_But it's foolish of me to worry- I know you, and I know you'll do your best. You probably already are. In fact, no doubt you're sitting there, shaking your head about 'paranoid Andi's' delusions._

_Fondest love,_

_Andi and Ted._

_(what about 'Fionulla' for the baby?)_

"Is that Andi again?"

I turned, exasperated facial expression already on my face in preparation for the onslaught of questions. But it wasn't Peter behind me- it was Remus.

"Remus!" I gasped, "you talked!"

He sat himself next to me, and smiled slightly. His hands were resting gingerly on his knees, which meant he wanted to tell me something, but wasn't quite sure how I would take it. I was intrigued. It was so rare for calm, collected, feet-on-the-ground Remus to be anxious.

"Yes," I answered him now, "it _is_ Andi. She won't shut up. Ever. Seeing as I am the only family member who speaks to her now, she vents all her emotion on me. It's ridiculously tiring."

Remus gave me an insanely sympathetic look which clearly said '_I know, all of your relatives are mad, even the nice ones.'_. It did not go unappreciated.

"How is your mother?" he asked now.

_Dear Andi…_

"Sorry?"

Remus smiled patiently, "I asked how your mother was."

I frowned, "haven't a clue. She's not speaking to me. Again. It is remarkably peaceful."

Her last letter had come on my birthday, and had read something like

_I hear the disturbing rumors that you are maintaining a correspondence with your slut of a cousin, whose name I will not sully the paper with. While I would once have dismissed such filthy mutterings as the work of envious peasants and riff raff, I feel as though I almost ought to give them credence._

_You will cease all contact with the muggle-whore, or you will cease all contact with me. I am ashamed to call you son, and so, unless you do this, I will no longer._

Remus hadn't heard about that particularly motherly little missive, and he was not aware of the widening of the already immense rift between us.

_Dear Andi,_

_I'm not really sure how to answer most of your letter._

_My deepest sympathies for your swollen feet and increased sexual cravings (actually, my deepest sympathies to Ted for that one), but, to be completely honest, I do not want to know. A blow-by-blow account of your pregnancy is no doubt fascinating to someone (somewhere), but not me, not here._

_Incidentally, what do you mean you keep getting the urge to lick metal? Is that normal? Is it healthy? Surely not! Could it be some side affect of something? I mean, you don't actually think it tastes good, do you?_

"Sirius" Remus was watching me, a smile on his face.

"Hi, Remus," I said, with a smile.

He laughed, "we've already said hello." He told me, before cocking his head to the side and examining me. "You have this really disgusted expression on your face, but really, _really_ disgusted."

"I _am_ disgusted."

Now came the difficult part of my letter.

_Listen, Andi. About Sissy and Bella….god. Alright, I just have to jump straight into it; Andi, I'm not talking to them. I haven't been for I don't know how long. Shit, Andi, I'm not even talking to Reg._

"Sirius? I actually need to talk to you about something."

I turned to Remus so eagerly he actually jumped up his seat in shock, "what?"

Distractions are bliss when you're supposed to be sharing unsavoury truths.

But Remus looked nervous now, and glanced away from me, staring out the window.

"Remus?"

He turned to me slowly, and his eyes were unreadable. I noticed he was even more of a mess than normal. His robes were shabby and tattered, but in a way that could never be cool. He had lost weight and his cheeks seemed overly hollowed out, while the bags under his eyes were even more pronounced. His hair hung into his eyes, shaggy and long, almost hiding them from view.

"God, you need a haircut," I told him, and he smiled wanly.

"I'm in love with Aurelie Dahlquist," he said, by way of answer.

I was shocked, "what?"

Remus looked out the window again, "do you think she'll talk to me again? I mean, I've been ignoring her for so long now…do you think she hates me?"

_Focus_, I ordered myself. "She doesn't hate you," I told him, my mind miles away, "how could she…." He looked immensely relieved, and I frowned, "what, er, what brought this on?" I rubbed awkwardly at the back of my head and grimaced at him.

He shrugged, almost as awkward as me, "I don't know." He said slowly, "I just _can't _try and stay away from her any longer." His expression turned pensive, "I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping my distance, but I've changed my mind." Once again, his eyes darted up to meet mine, gold and earnest, "so do you think she'll talk to me?"

I, uh," I remembered the look on her face when he'd turned away from her in the common room. "Yeah, Moony, of course she would."

He smiled slowly; a happy, contented smile, which clearly said _'isn't life amazing'_. I'm not sure about you, but I think that smile is one of the most detestable facial expressions ever produced by a state of insanity. Life is not amazing, and Remus should, by that stage, have figured out that even if his life went through brief periods of fairytale bliss (and hearing that a girl didn't despise you enough to shun you completely hardly qualifies as fairytale bliss) those were entirely temporal. Reality always checks in after a couple of days. And after all, the pigs (is it pigs?) eat Goldilocks, and red riding hood's grandma dies. Happy endings are a recent, and excessively optimistic invention.

"I think I always loved her," he said now, still smiling. "Always. She's just so…. Brave. And beautiful."

Awkward. I looked down at my abandoned letter with longing. To think I'd thought _that_ was awkward. "Yes, she is at that." I agreed, thoroughly wishing for an end to this conversation.

Remus was not of the same opinion, apparently.

"And the best part is," he continued happily, "that she doesn't give a damn about what other people think. She really, genuinely doesn't."

"And we love her for it," I told him.

I realized that, were it possible for me to travel to Andi's house _myself_ and deliver the news that I had no idea how her sisters were, and didn't really care, I would. _Just_ to avoid this conversation.

"Sirius?"

"Hmnnn?" I muttered, cracking one eye open to observe Remus' facial expression.

He looked eager, heart-breakingly eager, but scared. "You think we have a chance?"

I considered this, "er… yeah, I guess." It was a good answer, the right answer for a friend to give. But it felt strange on my tongue and I knew it was a lie. And at that moment, the conversation evolved from being tedious to being almost painful. I hated discussing Lee's apparent flawlessness with Remus, but discussing the two of them together made me feel strangely ill.

Remus didn't sense that, though. He seemed more than satisfied. Overjoyed, even, despite his reserved reaction.

"Good," he said quietly, "good."

…

Bella was in the Slytherin common room, naturally.

I was let in by that same sympathetic first year who'd helped me on my last visit, and I was wondering if I should make an effort to remember her name, which was something long and complicated. Too late, because she was gone before I could remember to ask.

"Bella?"

She was sitting on a couch, surrounded by friends. She looked up at the sound of her name being called, and when her eyes snagged on me, she seemed surprised.

Not in a good way.

She stood gracefully and strode over to me, then past me, out of the common room.

I followed like a dog.

Ha. A dog. That was entirely unintentional.

When she turned around and slapped me on the face, I didn't bother pretending to be shocked.

"How did you go writing those letters convincing Andromeda to come home?" she asked me, liltingly.

I was mildly surprised at my own apparent dick headedness. It had really been that long since last I'd spoken to my cousin. We really hadn't talked since the scandal had first broken out.

I met her gaze evenly, "Bella," I said slowly, clearly, "she does not want to go home."

"_Such_ a revelation," Bella circled me in a way that was almost predatory, "I had no idea…"

"She misses you," I told her.

"And I miss her,"

I rolled my eyes, "but, Bella, she is only a letter away."

Bella spun to face me, "not to me. To me, she is dead." She practically spat the words, and, as with all of us Blacks, her anger made her more beautiful.

I was immune to beauty, mysterious somebody. I had had enough experience with myself to know that the most beautiful exterior can house the maddest spirit.

"Bella, she is _worried_ about you." I said quietly, and the fire in her (my) eyes died a little.

"Worried?" she half whispered, "about _me_?" for a moment I truly believed that Bella had forgiven her sister. I believed Bella missed her and was truly fragile and a wreck at her betrayal. For a moment, I felt that Bella was the victim.

"_SHE_ WAS WORRIED ABOUT _ME_?" and then, reality called. Bella spun around and punched me in the shoulder. "HOW _DARE_ THAT….THAT…..THAT MUGGLE WHORE WORRY ABOUT ME!"

Having been raised by my mother, Bella's tantrum was one I could bare with ease. I leant back against the wall and stifled a yawn, "she thinks you're getting in with the wrong crowd."

"Oh yeah?" Bella's eyes (my eyes) flashed, "and WHY does she feel that SHE has ANY RIGHT to worry about ME? That muggle-lover has NOTHING to do with me."

"Bella?"

I turned over my shoulder.

"Shit."

Sissy was standing at the edge of the landing, eyeing me with suspicion, "Bella, what's wrong?" I told you that Sissy was pale, and I wasn't lying. She stood there, in the darkness of the dungeons, like a light in the shadows. Andi was right- Sissy _had_ become beautiful. She would've been proud.

Bella's chest was heaving as she glared at Sissy. There was a tense moment of silence, and then she raised a condemning finger and pointed it shakily in my direction.

"He dares….." she hissed, "he _dares_ to bring us messages from _her._"

That Sissy immediately knew whom Bella was talking about was proof of how much her sister lingered on her mind.

That she turned to me, furious, was proof of how much Andi had hurt her.

"Get out." She spat.

I smiled, despite feeling slightly ill. "Now, now, Sissy. You're fifteen…you shouldn't be acting like a matron."

"Get OUT" she screamed, running at me and shoving me against the wall, "getout getout getOUT!"

They forgot that I, too, possessed the Black Temper.

"I can only get out if you GET OUT OF MY WAY? Or would you rather I WALKED THROUGH YOU?" suddenly, remembering Andi's heartfelt concerns for her baby sisters, I snapped. "You know what? The both of you DO NOT DESERVE ANDI! She would do ANYTHING to see you both safe and happy. She does not give a SHIT who you date, or how pure the blood of your friends is! She is the only person in our godforsaken family who WOULD NEVER JUDGE YOU, and yet you THROW HER TO THE DOGS!"

Bella and Sissy both quailed, they weren't used to being stood up to, it seemed, and I strode past them swiftly, clomping away down the corridor with as much decorum and dignity as I could manage whilst in a rage.

"Sirius?" the voice that called me back was not angry so much as unsure. I knew how she felt- I too was unsure. After all, I hadn't expected to be called back at all.

Bella was standing, hands by her sides, behind me, her long hair hanging in a frame around her face, "what?" I asked curtly.

"You have to choose," she said, voice soft. "Andi, or me and Sissy. You can't have us both,"

Blacks, mysterious somebody, are notorious for never listening to anyone but themselves, and so it was not surprising that they had gained nothing from my impromptu speech.

Angry as I was, I didn't feel the need to put much thought into my answer. I stepped closer to her, one hand raised in anger, but I reined myself in, clenching my fist and taking a deep breath. When I'd calmed myself enough, I said, in as even a voice as I could manage; "If you think that I would choose a slutty _bitch_ and her wannabe sister over Andi, you need your head seen to."

And then, ignoring the look of pain in her (my) eyes, I left.

…..

God was that close.

Remus paid me a visit, which was unsurprisingly novel, but not at all pleasant.

He came in (without knocking, which is a sure sign of ill manners which is a sure sign of ill breeding, my mother would have said) and proceeded to stride over to me and upend my desk in one swift move.

I sat there, my chair having been left untouched, watching sheets of paper scrawled over in purple ink (disgusting even now) float aimlessly to the floor, and a large, dark stain spread across the floorboards, and Remus glared at me, chest heaving.

"Hello," he said finally, which struck me as amazingly amusing and I laughed slightly, which made him frown, "Molly tells me you spend all your time up here. You don't eat, you don't sleep. You missed dinner."

I considered this, "Remus, my friend," I said finally, tiredly, "you are aware, I hope, that the common response to one missing dinner is to save them some, or send up a serve. It is unusual for someone to tromp up the stairs and vandalise their room, without offering so much as a bread roll or a glass of wine out of respect for logic."

Unmoved, Remus looked at me intensely, "this must _end_."

I nodded solemnly, "yes, I think it must." And then I sighed, kicking my feet up onto the upended desk. "Besides, there's nothing left in here for you to trash in here, anyway"

"Damn it, Sirius," Remus wheeled around in his own little circle, like a child playing 'dizzy lizzy'. "When will you GROW UP?"

I was shocked to say the least, "what?"

"You act like a child, still. Even now! God, Sirius! When we were teenagers, this- this sullen wit, your snarky comments and snide observations could be considered _humour_, even _amusing_." He paused, back to me and muttered, "but you are supposed to be a grown man, now, and it is time for you to STOP BEING A TEENAGER!"

This seemed singularly unfair to me, "Remus," I said carefully, "would you indulge me for a moment, and perhaps tell me _why_ it is that you are feeling so affected by my immaturity just now?"

I was wrong about there being nothing left to trash in the room.

Remus turned on poor Reg's dresser, upending it and sending musty old clothes flying to the floor, raising plumes of dust.

"Temper, temper," I chastised him jokingly.

He punched me in the face.

It is most fortunate that Remus was always such a bookish individual, or his fist connecting with my nose may actually have hurt. As it was, I angled my head so the punch glanced off my cheek, and then darted out of his way as he overbalanced.

Then, I kicked the back of his knee, collapsing his leg so he tripped clumsily onto his face, and placed my knee on his chest.

"Muggle fighting," I told him, looking into his blazing eyes, "is _not_ proper wizard behaviour."

"Get off me and let me fight you!" Remus growled, sounding more like a wolf than even.

I chucked humourlessly, "Remus, pet," I told him, "I could take you on any day- save the full moon. Just remember that." Then my temper began to take over, and I leant down close to his ear, "and if you _ever_ come into my brother's room again, I will TEAR YOU APART."

Remus scoffed, "developing affection for him _now,_ are you? Better late than never, I suppose." I looked down at him, disgusted. "Don't give me that look," he snapped now, "I'm sick of you moping around the house, like you have any reason to be depressed. I mean, you're alive, aren't you? You're alive and so many people weren't as lucky. Stop acting like a victim."

That made me relatively angry, mysterious somebody.

"Not. The Victim." I repeated slowly, "Moping." I laughed and slammed my fist into his face, "I can't leave the house, Remus," I reminded him, punching him again, "I spent the last 12 years of my life in a PRISON for a crime I did not commit." I shook him roughly, "I have _never_ seen my daughter," I slammed him into the floor again, "and my love….." my hands fell from his shoulders and I slumped slightly, "the woman I love. Loved."

Remus' eyes were bleary from my punches, but he stared at me with something akin to sympathy.

Suddenly, he was kneeling by my side, one hand on my shoulder, the other hand wiping blood from his face. "I know," he said quietly, "I know. I lost my love, too."

It was a borderline tender moment, a thing we had not shared in many long years, and it would have continued, but for the entrance of an irate Molly.

"WHAT is going ON HERE?" she screeched, hands on hips, "what on EARTH do you think you are DOING?"

And Remus and I looked at each other, and, unable to help ourselves, broke into hysterical laughter, because it had been so bloody long since the last time _anybody_ had told us off.

…..

After the fiasco with Bella and Sissy, my emotions were not those of a collected and mature young man.

Feeling horribly angry and needing someone to fight with, I embarked on a desperate search for the one friend I could argue with happily; I sought out Lee.

I knew she would be in one of two places: by the lake or behind the far shelves in the library, where the books created what was almost a little room, enclosed on three sides by bookshelves.

But she was not in either, and my anger increased. I was spoiling for a fight.

I combed the castle, desperate to find her, blood raring, my fight with Bella replaying in my head over and over again.

I saw _red_. I nearly killed a second year, and sent a gaggle of fifth years running for cover into the library- preferring to face Madam Pince over me.

I had reached the 7th floor before I decided that perhaps she would not be found, and this thought made me even angrier. When it happened, I was prowling along the corridor, thinking desperately:

_I just need a fight. That is all I need. I need a fight with Lee….._

Have you ever heard of the room of requirement?

I hadn't, not til that day, when, by chance or something else, as I passed the tapestry depicting some boring tale of angry trolls or another piece of History made obsolete and boring by Binns, I heard a low laugh, and then another, and when I turned to my left, leaning against the wall was Lee, with Kingsley Shacklebolt leaning on _her_.

They had not been present seconds before.

Now, you have been witness, in a way, to my temper, and it flared now as I watched Kingsley lean across and kiss her pretty deeply. Lee had told me several times before that her countrymen had developed what was the only true way to kiss a man, and she put that theory in action now.

Now, I wasn't a complete idiot. I knew Lee had boyfriends, and I knew she wasn't shy about shows of affection, but I had never been more …..shall we say 'irritated' with her in-your-face romantic liaisons than I was right then.

And so, without bothering to say hello, I reached across the hall, grabbed Kingsley's collar and lifted him off of Lee.

To her credit, other than to roll her eyes and say, "Chien, is this necessary?" she stayed silent and made no protest. Perhaps he was not such a good kisser after all.

Kingsley, to _his_ credit, made a muffled noise of surprise, took one look at my face, and said, "well, I'll leave you two alone, shall I?" and walked away, looking back over his shoulder at Lee and I every few steps.

She watched him go with bored eyes, and when he finally disappeared from sight, she turned to me.

"What?" she asked, looking irritated.

I snapped.

"I am so _sick_ of you FUCKING EVERYBODY!" a couple of Ravenclaw girls running along the corridor picked up their pace, giggling furiously.

Lee raised an eyebrow, watching my face for a few moments and then, infuriatingly, she opened her mouth and said, "maybe I will leave you alone for a while."

This was entirely unlike Lee. This was supposed to be a fight. I had expected her to try to throttle me at my ever so slightly exaggerated accusation, but she was feeling far too mature to oblige me, it seemed. I _hated_ mature Lee.

I pushed her up against the wall, harder than was necessary.

"What is your problem?" she hissed at me, still looking reasonably calm, although her feet were no longer touching the floor, "not getting enough yourself, is it?"

I growled, "I don't know," I muttered through gritted teeth, "why don't you tell me what a _whore_ considers enough?"

Lee just rolled her eyes and met my gaze calmly, "I think you'd be an authority on that." She said. "Did something happen with Bella?"

She hit the mark and I lowered her to the floor. "She won't talk to Andi," I told her quietly, "and that will break her heart."

I slid down into the floor, leaning back against the wall. A moment later, Lee joined me. "Whose heart?" she asked, "Bella's or Andi's?"

"Both," I told her with a scoff, and she placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" I snapped at her, and she withdrew her hand slowly, "don't you touch me after you've been with _him_."

Lee watched me for a second with shuttered eyes, then she burst out laughing.

"What?" I growled, "what the hell is funny?" she was actually clutching her stomach now, tears running down her face as her shoulders shook with laughter, "bloody hell, Lee, would you shut up! Stop laughing!"

"You sound…" she gasped, "you sound…..like an old….shrew….and I'm your husband, who is having….the affair…"

"Don't laugh at me," I snapped, but the corners of my mouth were quirking up anyway, "don't laugh…."

And then I lost it.

It seemed that Lee often had that effect on me. Since we'd admitted that we were friends, everything had changed between us. No more snarky comments. No more cutting remarks. Now whenever she was around, I had little control over my emotions, and my Black disdain? Nowhere to be found. I was either screaming at her, worrying about her, snapping at her or, in this case, rolling on the floor laughing in the middle of a corridor with her.

"Damn it, Lee," I breathed after we'd calmed down, "you're so… infuriating."

A couple of second years sped past, giggling, and quickly, I straightened my shirt, pulling myself into a slightly more dignified position.

Beside me, Lee hiccupped once, and then laughed again quietly. "Oh, Black." She breathed, "Now I see what they meant when they said you were impassive and aloof- you're so _suave_ and _cool_. I can tell you'd _never_ crack. " The sarcasm dripped off of her words.

Scoffing, my sides still aching, I pushed her a little. "Don't…..don't do that." I told her now, and she looked at me, incredulous, "don't…make me look…you know…immature."

She laughed again, but I put a hand over her mouth, rolling on top of her so that I could see her face.

Slowly, cautiously, she stopped wriggling and looked up at me, meeting my gaze with one eyebrow raised. I searched her face, "you make me act like a different person, you know?" I told her, and she rolled her eyes.

I could feel her mouth open under my hand, she had a smart retort at the ready of course, but she never got to say it.

I took my hand of her mouth and she gave her evil little smile and laughed, "Black…." But before she could get any further, I leant down and kissed her full on the mouth, and if she seemed shocked at first, it didn't take her long to start kissing me back.


	10. Chapter 10

Today, mysterious somebody, I think I will call you by name, at least once.

Because, frankly, you have a lovely name and I need to come to terms with the fact that, even if it would not have been my own choice.

Even if I did not have any role in the choosing it.

Even if the choice itself seems like a direct dig at me.

But we shan't talk about that now, Estelle (hah, that wasn't so bad) because, if you are still reading this it seems likely that you are interested in the story, not my personal opinions.

So I will continue with my tale.

…..

"This time," Lee told me, her head resting in the crook of my arm, "if you spread any rumours about me, I will jinx your balls off."

I frowned, shifting slightly so I could look down at her, "sorry? What is this? A pre-nuptial agreement?"

She raised an eyebrow, "what is this?" she mimicked, "a proposal?"

I considered, then realized how my flippant comment could have been misinterpreted, "oh." I said lamely, "well….?" I turned to her and waggled my eyebrows.

Lee looked unimpressed. "You're changing the subject." She said, bored.

"What? No. I hear Vegas is _very_ romantic this time of year."

"You have no idea what 'Vegas' is." Lee observed, apparently disinterested in the discussion.

And of course, she was correct. "it's a thing… of some sort." I said vaguely. "It helps muggles get married quickly." I said with a shrug. "I think probably, it's a machine? Or some sort of medicine?" She shot me a look of disdain, "oh," I snorted, "is my description of a marriage machine not romantic enough for you? When you make _that_ face, I almost believe you _would_ jinx my balls off."

I was reasonably proud of myself for proving I'd been listening to her threats, but Lee was unimpressed. In fact, she looked fairly serious, "I have done it before," she told me solemnly, "and I would do it again."

I smiled slowly, turning my head to look at the ceiling. "Liar. You would not. Think of the waste."

She considered this before giving an unconcerned shrug, which made me slightly annoyed until I saw that her devilish grin was on her face again. Hah. Funny. With a sigh, I tweaked her nose, and she punched me in the stomach.

And then we fell into silent companionship. I stroked a hand over her hair, and she closed her eyes, leaning into my hand. Thus unobserved, I examined her.

Her hair was a complete mess, tangled under my back, and wound around my fingers, and her lips were swollen. This made my temper rear a little. After all, her lips were swollen because she'd gone straight from kissing Shacklebolt to kissing me, which was pretty damn…..

"Has anyone ever told you that your face is easy to read?" Lee was staring up at me from under half closed eyes. She looked amused.

"No." I told her honestly. "Is it?"

She rolled her eyes. "_Very_. And you shouldn't think thoughts like that about me. From the look on your face, the stress of it might give you an aneurysm."

I gritted my teeth, "you should be flattered that I'm bothered enough to get jealous."

"Oh, I am." Lee said, bitingly sarcasm, "I thank fate every day for bringing us to each other. Look at me, the lucky girl who landed a boy who gets _jealous_."

I sighed, "right, so you're not big on the whole 'jealousy' thing." I shrugged- could manage that. "So what am I _supposed_ to think about you?"

Lee stretched her hands out before her, "I," she said plainly, "am a Goddess."

I snorted, "I didn't realize those girls were being literal when they said they liked boys to 'worship' them. What, were your other boyfriends considered priests or acolytes of the holy order of Aureile?"

As per usual, I hadn't really thought before speaking. But now, considering my words, I felt myself flinch. Other boyfriends implied that there was a current boyfriend. Which would be.. me?

_Boyfriend._ That was not a word I applied to myself pretty often.

Lee didn't look too thrilled by the implications of my statement either. Her brow furrowed, just slightly, and she slowly shifted further away from me.

I wasn't surprised by her sudden distance- the pair of us always read so deeply into things- of course she'd gotten the same impression from one vague sentence that I had.

It seemed that relationships were something the both of us would have to get used to. The question was _could_ we get used to them?

And the other question- the one I was slightly ashamed of, as I glanced at the girl lying next to me, staring pensively at the ceiling- was; did Lee _want_ to?

Did _I_ want to? Or was this all just the aftermath of a particularly stellar snog? Was this the beginning of a relationship, or was it just sheer physical compatibility?

And, the question of all questions, how the hell do I figure out the damn answers?

"Chien?"

"Hmnn?" I said vaguely, still lost in my own musings.

Lee was watching me, apparently amused, "not that I don't _appreciate_ the originality, really, I do. So many boys bother with _romance_ and effort at this stage. Your method _is_ refreshing, but the floor isn't really the most atmospheric place to begin… this."

More questions. What did she mean when by 'this'? Was that comment about romance a dig at me?

About then I realized how pathetic I was sounding, and pushed such thoughts aside. Damn it, I was Sirius Black, and Sirius Black didn't _think_ about these things. No, these things just _happened,_ and I went along with them- always with impeccable style and charm.

This was no different. I just had to let it play out.

I nodded, pleased with my revelation, and jumped to my feet. With another girl, I would have reached down and helped her up as well, but this was Lee Dahlquist, and I knew that she'd stand up just fine without me.

Which she did, and with considerably more grace than I had managed. As I watched, she met my gaze- nonchalance for nonchalance. I was struck by a sudden pang of empathy for my past flings- was this what it felt like to deal with me?

"So," I said, surprised by the awkwardness between us, and wanting to fill the silence. Lee said nothing, just waited for me to finish. The only problem was, I didn't know how to. This wasn't some slag- this was Lee, and I was sort of friends with her. What was I supposed to do now? What did she expect? I fell back on my understanding of the female mind. "Shall we go down by the lake?"

The lake was an intensely populated place on Sundays. Arriving there and snogging was Hogwarts couples' way of announcing themselves, and by suggesting we go, too, I was essentially asking her out- declaring my intentions, even. It was, I knew, what so many of my fleeting dalliances had dreamed I would ask. It was therefore what any girl would want.

I had naturally forgotten that Lee wasn't 'any' girl. God knows what she was, but it wasn't common or usual, and that was never clearer than just then, when she turned around and met my gaze. She looked so intense, so full of some unidentifiable emotion, something potent. And all I could say about it was that it wasn't positive, and it certainly didn't indicate that she was overly appreciative about the sacrifice I was making.

I amended, "why don't we just talk for a while?"

Lee scoffed, and just like that, her intense and unreadable demeanour from before disappeared, replaced by her normal, mocking self. "What makes you think I want to talk to _you_?" she demanded tauntingly, but her vicious smile was still on her face.

Throwing my hands in the air, I sighed. "Fine, Dahlquist," I said, "we'll just head off somewhere and snog then, shall we?"

She linked her arm with mine, "how rude." She muttered, sounding amused, "Sirius Black, I'll have you know that I'm _not_ that kind of girl."

…

In case you've lost track of time (I've barely got a grip on the chronology of this, and I lived it) I am here currently nearing the end of my sixth year at Hogwarts.

And it scared the hell out of me. One way or another, this year was different to the others I had spent pretending to 'learn'. Of course, the workload I was churning out was about the same- close to nothing. I was practically professionally unproductive. I had a sort of aversion to work, like a cat to water. But every now and then, whether because Remus forced me or I was bored or I just wanted to shake things up a little, I would hand up an essay (quite late, of course). I was always rewarded by the shocked expressions of my professors- no, not shocked. Awed. They would pause, momentarily then, slowly, understanding would dawn on their faces along with something else; pride, fear, incredulity, disbelief?

It's the kind of expression you'd associate with a man finding out he's about to become a father. Sort of 'This is a monumental event- so monumental that I can't quite process it completely right now'.

In short, they'd go into shock.

This expression was becoming more and more commonplace as Remus _forced___me to actually work for our second round of OWLS. He was, of course, worried about me. More worried than I was about myself.

Dear Remus. Always so motherly. He'd been badgering me for almost a year to decide what I wanted out of life, and I'd been driving him spare for almost a year by refusing.

And so, unable to inspire any sort of ambition in me, Remus fell back on his unfailing logic and decided I would just have to pass all my OWLs to leave my options open.

This wasn't going to be difficult, because I was (modesty not at all present) rather intelligent for my age. I had managed last year to scrape a reasonable number of OWLS, filling Remus with pride.

He'd have been less proud if he'd discovered that my study methods had consisted entirely of staring aimlessly at the clouds and listening to the sounds of sweet determination as Remus and Peter struggled through their texbooks.

_Very_ affective, believe me. There is nothing so pleasant as relaxing amidst a group of frantically studying teenagers.

Of course, he would have been less impressed to note my study methods _this_ time around. Namely revising my French grammar between kisses in the library.

I suppose that makes it sound as though Lee was truly awful for my studies. But she wasn't. Because as much as I liked her, I wanted to beat her more, and so as she began to (finally) put effort into her studies, I picked up the pace as well. And my competitiveness made her more competitive, and her competitiveness made _me_ more competitive and so on.

We shocked the faculty by becoming brilliant seemingly overnight.

But OWLs? _These_ OWLs? They were different. They were the build up for NEWTS, and I doubted I'd ever be ready to take on NEWTs. Somehow there was more pressure this year. Because, I suppose, the professors assumed that we _liked_ our subjects enough to try- seeing as we chose them ourselves.

But I had pulled my subjects out of a hat- there was no real passion there, and so I could muster very little when it came down to revision. Lee was less than helpful, too. When she did condescend to study with me, she's amuse herself by ripping pages out of my textbooks and making them into origami hats for us.

And I'd scowl, and call her a slag, and she'd slap me and tell me I was a bore. And I'd say that she would end up a prostitute because she failed her OWLs for lack of studying. And she'd say that _I_ would end up a prostitute because I failed my OWLs _despite_ studying.

And then somehow our fight would escalate almost to blows, and then we'd be kissing, and then we'd be laughing, and the day would end with Lee teaching me how to make paper cranes using Lily's old Potions notes ('borrowed' of course _without_ Lily's permission)

So you see, the realization that I had no clue where my life was going ceased to bother me perhaps a few weeks after I realized it. Lee had helped- the one time I'd truly panicked, she'd held my face in her hands, touched my forehead to hers, and said, "I thought 'Sirius Black' just 'went along' with these things." And then, more kindly, "you'll figure it out. You always do." And just to make sure we didn't end on too nice terms: "God knows how, you're such a buffoon."

And so, I decided to simply 'let it be'. James was similarly resigned to his fate, and while Remus and Peter poured over their old essays and scrolls and books one day by the lake, James turned to me and said, "Reckon it's Quidditch we need to be concentrating on, on a day like this. Fancy a quick game?"

It seemed like a good enough idea, until we reached the pitch.

Our plan had been to play by ourselves, seeing as the rest of the world was stressing about exams, while we were above such petty and pointless passtimes. James had reasoned that, even if a team had been present, they would allow us to practice with them, by virtue of our rascally charm.

But it wasn't a team practicing on the field, it was a seeker, just one seeker, and when I saw him, I wanted to turn around and go back. But James didn't know how much my family bothered me, and I didn't really want him to know. With the skewed logic only a teenager can muster, I thought that not liking being around my family made me appear weak.

"Ah, hey….Regulus, right?" James shot my brother a grin and zoomed onto the pitch. I followed him.

Reg's eyes narrowed when they fixed on me, but turned into slits in his head when they fixed on James.

I wondered briefly what James had done to merit such scorn. He was, after all, a bit of a bully, but amiable as could be since he and Lilly got a little closer. He hadn't laid a finger on Snape in months. Besides, could Reg really hold Snivellus' treatment against James? Especially seeing as it had been me who had encouraged all that.

There was a long and intensely awkward moment. Reg didn't speak. I didn't speak. James just sat there, grinning like an idiot. It must've been closing in on five minutes that we all just sat there on our brooms, bobbing silently in the breeze.

Reg really didn't want us there. He looked defensive and shocked. He looked like we were the last people in the world that he'd _ever_ want to see.

My baby brother.

"What?" he asked, finally breaking the oppressive silence. James nudged me, and I saw that Reg had directed his question at me, which seemed a bit odd, considering that James had been the one to instigate conversation.

"We were thinking we'd get a bit of practice in." I said boredly, eyes scanning the stands with practiced nonchalance.

I could practically feel Reg's temper fraying, "oh, yeah? Well, the pitch is taken."

James looked mildly confused, "well, we wouldn't be looking to take up the whole pitch…..we'd use only half, less, maybe."

Then he shot a look at me, like I should help.

I didn't. Reg was my brother, and I had grown up with him. I'd been there when he'd said his first word ('Black', if you're wondering, mine was apparently 'no'). And I'd pushed him down a flight of stairs when he'd annoyed me, and I'd hugged him tightly when he'd had nightmares. But none of that meant I felt comfortable talking to him. I pretended not to see James' look and carefully examined my nails.

Eventually, Reg seemed to give up on me contributing anything useful to the conversation. "Piss off. The Pitch is taken." He snapped, wheeling his broom around.

James' face darkened, and with Chaser's reflexes, he quickly grasped the back of Reg's broom, stopping him from moving away. "Look, we wouldn't be taking up _that_ much room….I'm sure we could share…."

Reg's eyes shot down to where James was touching his broom. He looked disgusted. Disdainfully, his gaze lifted to meet James'. "You sure?" he asked mockingly. Then his voice turned cold. "Think again. It's taken."

James took a few deep breathes, "look, kid, I really think…"

"Are you stupid? It's my pitch! Go bully a first year or something."

"Alright, mate, it's not _your_ pitch…"

"My god. You are thick. Read my lips: this. Pitch. Is. Taken. Go. Screw. Yourself."

I could sense a storm brewing now, James' knuckles were white where he clutched his broom handle, and Reg's eyes were blazing. I could almost see myself poking out of them, waving frantically, as if to say 'see? See the resemblance? Yes? So stick up for me!' But Reg was being stupid and I wasn't going to go against James when James was right.

"Listen, greaseball," James' voice was menacing now, "why don't you leave the Pitch to the big boys now, and go play with some dollies or something?"

For the first time in a long while, I looked, and I mean really looked at my brother. He was only small in stature, very reedy looking, and he had recently developed some unfortunate acne, which sprinkled itself across his cheeks and forehead. Not like me. His hair was pretty greasy, I have to say, and hung down lankly on his cheeks, thin already, with no shine. Not like me. His head was way out of proportion to the rest of his body, and he with his long legs and arms and huge eyes, he put me in mind of some huge insect. Not like me. The only thing which was like me were his eyes, which were mine exactly. Just like Bella's. Just like my father's. I could never escape my family. They were there every time I looked in the mirror.

But my reflection held little other resemblance to Reg at first. Looking at him now, I could seethat.

I saw in that instant, another Snape. Next year, or maybe already, he would be teased by people like James and I. Were there some younger models of us wandering around the school as we spoke, pranking teachers and looking out for a misfit to mock?

The only thing which saved Reg from being taunted (behind his back) by James and I was the fact that he was my brother, but if James was stressed or irritated, he would bait anybody.

Please, mysterious somebody, don't think badly of James because he could be cruel (to your uncle, no less). Believe me when I say that James was only ever mean to those who were not Snape when he was stressed beyond belief, and being pushed past his limits. I actually have further insight into this now than I had when I was a kid, because I think now that James picked up on my feelings when it came to family, despite the fact that I never complained and only ever spoke of them jocularly. And James was _very_ protective of me, so he naturally would have felt strongly toward my family, the only people who had ever managed to get under my skin.

In the muggle world, there is a super hero called Superboy, or something equally unimaginative. I know very little about him (Lily mentioned him once or twice) except that he has an odd idea of how underwear is intended to be worn by grown men, and that he is very strong except when confronted with this particular substance called Kryptonite, which weakens him instantly.

That is me, I think. My family is the Kryptonite, which enables even a baby to hurt me. I swear, one day, my family will be the death of me.

"So, bugman, are you going to get your arse off this field, or are we going to have to make you?"

We? My head snapped up.

"You?" Reg scoffed, "yeah, whatever, give it your best…."

"James, back off. Reg, grow up." I snapped finally. Both boys looked at me in confusion. My silence had made me blend into the background. Lesson learned- I _hated_ the background. "You're both being stupid. Now, Reg can practice this end of the pitch. James, we'll go up the other end."

"Gonna take a lot of practice to make you any good." Reg spat. That was undeniably true.

"Well, Reggy boy, it will take a lot of practice to make you normal." I told him, "but maybe one day you'll get there." My comment was typical of me. Spoken casually, but biting and cruel.

And _thoughtless_. I hadn't thought- I hadn't thought about whom it was I was talking to, and now I regretted it.

Reg looked at me, disgust twisting his face, "you know what?" he said quietly, "you can have the pitch." Then he was gone.

James was ecstatic, but somehow, I was not, and after a few minutes, James figured out I wasn't in the mood and suggested we go in. Which we did. To my relief.

….

Snape has just claimed Reg's room. Supposedly he needs privacy to write something, which seems a laughable excuse, but true or false, his work has shifted me into my mother's bedroom, where Buckbeak is sitting on the bed, methodically tearing what is left of her doona into long strips.

Maybe he is making a nest? I'm not sure.

Anyway, apparently, though this is my house, Snape has priority over the rooms. And so, here I sit; wedged between the wardrobe, which is jolting sporadically in a most unsettling manner, and the bed, so I am constantly being showered in feathers. Thank you, Buckbeak.

Buckbeak, mysterious somebody, is my hippogriff. We are currently both fugitives from the law. Another parallel? We are both accused of endangering the lives of wizards. In his case, it was attempted. In my case, I am thought to have succeeded.

Interesting that I can now be almost nonchalant about this whole thing. I still remember that day, when it happened.

I'm not talking about _that_ day, when I wandered around the ruins of their home, found their bodies, found their son. I try not to think about that day, try not to think about begging Hagrid to give me my godson, who already looked like James, and had smiled at me with eyes that looked like Lilly's. It is probably best that he said no.

I'm thinking about the day when James and Lilly sat me down, trying to look calm, and asked me if I would be their secret keeper. And I thought about it, bouncing Harry on my knee, and decided: No.

No, because I did not want that responsibility. I did not want that burden. I wasn't sure I could really handle it, after all, wasn't sure how I would do under torture, because I had what I considered a healthy aversion to pain.

And I told them this, and seeing that their faith in me was unshakable (not to mention unmerited) I suggested a decoy. Everybody would think that they would choose me, yes? They supposed this was true. So, I insisted, why not pull the prank of pranks, why not make the secret keeper instead someone who no one would suspect? Why not Remus, or, say, Peter?

Lily was skeptical, but James was elated. Brilliant, he thought, pure brilliance. Who would know?

Nobody, that's who.

Mia culpa. My fault. My pride. My foolishness.

So, I killed them. Seeing James' enthusiasm, I won Lily over, telling her that this method would make Harry that much safer, and she gave in, though even she, trusting as she was, could never quite abide Peter.

And better yet, we told no one of the swap. James was grinning like a twelve year old when the deal was done, and I was the only one who knew the truth, and their address, because we made Peter tell me.

Don't visit, though, I was warned, and I laughed along with James, while Lily suggested Remus be told as well, and Peter said, perhaps not, and I see now why he said that. But back then, I thought that maybe he just wanted to be the one included that time, he wanted to be the one to leave someone in the dark.

And so, Remus was not told, and by agreeing with Peter (perhaps because I was angry at Remus that day) I signed my own death warrant.

How different things would be if he had been told.

Can you imagine? What if I had suggested a double bluff, made Remus secret keeper? James would still be alive, Harry would be a normal child. Lily would be fussing over him and no doubt telling me epic stories of his grades and that every day. She used to send me letters detailing when and why he had wind, or how often he'd smiled that day. I still have some of them, somewhere. Harry and I would be less father/son combined with brothers and friends, and be more like comrades. We would have a common enemy; his parents, and I would let him come over my house to meet with his girlfriend or run away to me when he felt the need to appear rebellious.

Of course, I would tell James whenever this happened, because in truth I would be a double agent, playing both sides, and Harry would never have known.

But then, would Voldemort still be alive if James and Lily had not been found?

Would he still be at large? And if so, would James and Lily perhaps still be in hiding? Would Harry have even been allowed to go to Hogwarts, or would he have no girlfriends- no friends. Would he have been locked away and never even met another child?"

Would hundreds more people have died before Voldemort was taken down somehow. Would hundreds more families have been extinguished before he was stopped?

Would he even have _been_ stopped?

Perhaps (and this is hard to say) things worked out the only way they could have. After all, if Voldemort had survived, how many more Sirius Black types would be half dead with sorrow at the loss of their friends?

Believe me, one Sirius Black is enough.

…

"Hello."

"Enough with the pleasantries."

Apparently agreeing with my gruff statement, Lee leant over and kissed me. It wasn't magical- in fact, considering that I was sitting down and she was standing behind me, it was upside-down- but it was nice and it made me feel a little better.

She sashayed around the chair and sat on its arm, leaning her head on mine.

I paused for a moment, waiting for her to ask if something was wrong, but then I remembered who she was, and decided that she would not. Because this was Lee, and she knew something was wrong without asking. I looked up at her and her eyes were full of knowing empathy and understanding. She would never look at me with sympathy, probably because she disliked feeling _pitied_ as much as I did. But she knew how I was feeling inside.

"Saw Reg," I told her, and she ran a hand through my hair.

"He misses you, is all," she told me, sounding very wise, which made me smile. And then, remembering exactly whom she was talking to, she tacked on a hasty, "God knows why."

"Bitch." Was my answer, more out of habit than anything else. "He hates James," I observed, then I turned to her, "why does he hate James?"

She snorted delicately, "boys are very stupid when it comes to emotions," she told me sagely. I agreed completely, "he hates James because he thinks James had replaced him."

"_That_ is stupid." I scoffed. "No wonder I didn't pick up on that. It is _very_ very stupid. It's the stupidest stupid thing I've ever stupidly heard."

Lee gave me a look which clearly said, no _you_ are stupid. Whether this was a reaction to my inability to understand Reg's emotional state or to the gibberish I'd just spouted, I wasn't sure.

But either way, I just looked right back at her. We fought all the time, just so you know. We didn't actually spend too much time being lovey dovey and romantic, most of the time we were together we were ripping into each other so hard that we came away wincing. Fighting for us seemed kind of like sex without the sex.

I could feel a fight coming on now. I was in a bad mood.

"Don't look at me like that," I told her.

Lee rolled her eyes, "don't do that," she said.

"What?"

"You always vent your anger on me." She snapped, "I enjoy our little… episodes.. but I'm not a punching bag. Go hit a wall if you're frustrated."

She had a point there.

"Hitting a wall isn't as fun."

Lee's eyes gleamed, "it is also a lot less painful."

This was probably true, I conceded, hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her onto my lap.

"Sirius? Sirius?"

"Shit." I said, fumbling round in my pocket for my mirror.

Lee gracefully slipped off my lap and went to look out the window.

I had it, "James?" I asked, staring into the mirror, "where are you?"

"Where are _you_?" James asked back, smiling crookedly, "and where is Lee?"

"Uh…." I glanced up at Lee, who shook her head once, "I don't know. Have you checked with Remus?"

Lee's eyebrows shot up into her hairline. Remus did not talk to her very often,

"No…..Lily wants her, something to do with some guy?"

Now I was curious, "a guy? What, is she dating someone?"

"Lee? Hell no. But some third years claimed they saw her snogging _somebody_ in the library the other day."

James was moving, I was sure of it. The mirror was jolting from side to side, as though with steps, but James kept it trained so close to his face that I couldn't make out his surroundings. "Prongs, where are you?" I asked, slightly apprehensive. Lee didn't look too pleased either. "Prongs?"

"I'm…..where are you?"

I thought for a moment, "I'm in the library."

"Gosh. So am I! How…..coincidental."

Oh shit, I thought, lowering the mirror just as James edged around the bookcase which, so conveniently placed, made the small area into a tiny room.

"Hello, James." Lee smiled at him.

James nodded, "Lee. Oh, Lily really is looking for you."

Lee smiled again, "oh? I best not keep her waiting," she said, but, being Lee, then leaned back against the wall of books, watching us carefully.

James took this in his stride, "so, how long?"

I looked over at Lee, who shrugged, "ah, a couple of weeks?" I guessed.

Lee nodded.

James nodded.

We looked like those little dogs with the bobbing heads that muggles keep in their cars.

I found myself unconsciously nodding along, it was a strange, mindless experience for me, and I felt unable to break free of the sea of agreement.

Lee snapped out of it first, ceasing to nod. After that, the spell was broken, which made it a lot easier to talk.

James looked from Lee to I with a small smile on his face. There was nothing he loved more than a good scandal.

"Does anyone else know?" he asked now, the gleam of opportunities perceived lighting his eyes.

Lee considered, "I may have figured it out, and Sirius is almost there," I snorted and she silenced me with a look, "but it isn't such a big thing, after all. It isn't like we're….together or anything like that."

I looked at her sharply. Not together? That phrase coming from her lips offended me more than I was willing to admit.

James, too, looked disappointed, "it would have been perfect if you were," he informed her, tone almost reprimanding, "Lilly and I, Sirius and you…..it would have been like something out of a fairytale." He sounded wistful even then.

But Lee did not look overly impressed. She gave a small sigh, she answered him, but her eyes rested on me and I knew her words were as much for my benefit as for his, "I don't do fairytales."

...

_**I'm just going to take the opportunity to say thankyou for the reviews I have received so far! It's really great that so many people like the story, or, if not the story, my writing. That people take the time to tell me what they think about my work is pretty nice.**_

_**I'm also sorry about how infrequent the entries to this have been; school's in, and I have pretty much no time for writing, but I'm doing my best.**_

_**Thanks again, and keep reading.**_


	11. Chapter 11

I am sick to death of hearing about that Umbridge bitch.

Every man wishes, as he gets on in life, to be young again, but never has one wished so fervently as I.

And I don't want to be young for selfish reasons, either. I just want to give her hell, to stand up for the students. I never had such a teacher in my time at Hogwarts, and I am itching to be able to torment her, as I was never given the opportunity to do.

Plans of pranks whiz through my head daily, ideas, schemes and projects pop into my mind, often inspired by the most mundane things, like pepper grinders, or tadpoles. This witch is a veritable stimulant of ingenuity.

Ah, were I young, this Umbridge woman would have no peace whatsoever. She would be begging for mercy.

But, I must remind myself of the combined brilliance of Fred and George, both worthy of recognition for their ingenious mischief. Harry assures me constantly that they are doing all they can to make her life a misery.

Still, I'm sure I could help in some, small way.

Ah, I don't know. Maybe I am just pining for my lost days of glory, when I had a reputation as the most charming little shit ever to sit in detention. Back in the days where James and I communicated using magic mirrors, closer than brothers, because brothers are chosen for you, but you choose your friends yourself.

God, do I miss him, ever single time I see Harry.

Or Lupin, even.

Lupin knows that, I think, and so lately he has stayed out of my way, but I wish he wouldn't. Because missing James is just a way to remember him, and lately, even as I write this, delving deep into my long suppressed past, that has been hard.

It is hard remembering _her_, too, you know. Probably because, after so many bloody years, I am still angry with _her_ for being such a pain. And they said _I_ had issues with commitment. They have no idea what _she_ was like. None!

You have recognised her, haven't you, mysterious somebody. She died when you were very young, I know, but you do see her in all this. Or has she changed that much? _Had_ she changed that much.

I meant _had_ she changed that much.

Buckbeak is eating my shoe. Actually, I should warn you; if anything in this account seems slightly disjointed or out of place, don't immediately assume it is because I am jumping from thought to thought, because it may just be that Buckbeak has eaten my memoirs. He eats a lot, you know, and he's particularly irritable right now, probably because he's not been allowed out of his room in months, poor thing. I constantly incur Molly's wrath as I never ever chastise him, no matter whether his lunch is the only pair of matching socks in the entire house or perhaps a battle plan. Probably because I can relate to him so much. When he feels cooped up, his reflex reaction is to eat, which is infinitely more convenient than my own. I tend to wallow in anger and guilt, constantly either starting fights or being so depressive that my roommates want to perform an intervention.

You are probably noticing the many blots and scratches on this page. You are probably wondering what is taking me so long to write, and why I am being so utterly ineloquent today.

It is because I cannot think of a suitable memory. Is that not tragic? Not utterly pathetic?

I started writing these memoirs, sure I could finish them, and here I am, grasping for a memory, one of my _own_ memories.

I feel like a man who has waded waist deep into a lake, and is trying to catch fish with his bare hands. I almost get one, and then, poof, gone.

Should I just begin with the obvious?

…

"I do not want to do this anymore."

Aureilee raised an eyebrow, "what was that? You had your head in your hands again. I can't understand you when you do that."

She was undeniably right. I lifted my head and met her gaze. She didn't look defensive so much as quizzical.

"I said 'I do not want to do this anymore"

I waited, flinchingly, for the inevitable 'what? _You_ are breaking up with _me_?"

It didn't come.

"I'll assume that by 'this', you mean meeting me in corridors and kissing till our mouths are bruised."

God she was a pain. She said her piece in such a businesslike tone. Same way you'd say to a teacher, ' I assume that when you say 'due in a week', you mean due in a week tomorrow?'. A question which is not a question so much as a clarification; a reminder of the truth.

"Yes," I snapped, "that is exactly what I mean."

Aurelie nodded, processing this. "well," she began, consideringly, "I suppose we gave it a good two-week long shot." Her voice sounded slightly bitter. "And if a relationship doesn't work after two weeks, then of course there is _nothing_ to be done." She looked out across the grounds. We were sitting on top of the astronomy tower, our feet dangling off of the edge. Some people may have been concerned- looking down at their feet only to see the tiny ant-like shapes of the students milling about far below. But I wasn't scared of heights. I _was_ a little apprehensive of Lee. She sighed now, and I awaited her next statement. Would it be dramatic? Would it be a declaration to make our whole ridiculous, _angry_ situation make sense. She sighed, and examined her nails, flicking a piece of dirt off of one. "May I ask why?" she asked, finally.

I saw red. "No, Lee." I said sarcastically. "No. You're not _allowed_ to ask why. That's in the bloody school rules; when you're being dumped- you're _not_ entitled to ask why." She shrugged, and I resisted the urge to push her off of the tower. "Honestly, what kind of a question was that!" I snapped at her, and she rolled her eyes.

"What kind of an answer is that?" she countered, before running a hand through her hair, evidently frustrated.

I watched her, flabbergasted, "Lee," I asked, trying to keep my voice even, "are you even _listening_?"

She shook her head, "no." she said honestly, "we do this all the time, Black. It's been two weeks, maybe three, and we fight every single day. And we scream that we hate each other every. Single. Day."

"This is real, Lee." I said, calm as could be.

"Of _course_ it is." She drawled, "and the next one will be real, and the next one…."

"There won't be a next one and a next one." I said through gritted teeth. "Because, as you'd know if you weren't so bloody _superior _all the time, I'm actually ending…. Whatever this is.. right now."

"Oh?" she sounded amused, and as I watched, she slid over to me, stopping inches from my face, "you're ending… this?" she moved even closer- a breath away from kissing me, and I my every cell screamed to grab her. But I didn't.

"Always go back to sex to get your way, don't you?" I asked coldly.

There was a moment of silence, and Lee looked back at me, clearly battling to _not_ hex me into oblivion. As I watched, she caught herself, and though her fingers gripped her wand, she smiled sweetly, and said. "Maybe we should talk about this when you're not acting like a lunatic." Her tone was intolerably patronizing, and I knew she wanted me to feel like a fool. With bored grace, she stood, making to walk away without so much as a goodbye.

The other times this sort of thing had happened (usually because I'd seen her flirting with a boy, or she'd caught me ogling somebody else) I'd always let her go, then later found her and we'd snog each other senseless. But this time wasn't like that, and she wasn't allowed to leave until she understood. I wouldn't let her. So, I grabbed her hand, yanking her back down onto the bricks. Se hissed in protest. "Thing is, cheton," I told her, not looking at her eyes, "that I am _always _a lunatic when I'm around you, because you are so bloody infuriating."

I could just tell that she was raising an eyebrow, even though my eyes were trained on the horizon. "Wait." She said. "You're dumping me because I am infuriating?"

"I'm dumping you because we're not even together."

"That doesn't actually make sense," Lee pointed out, and I slapped my hand on my knee.

"See!" I exclaimed, "infuriating!"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, "so you're truly ending this?" she asked, and I nodded. Her laugh was low and sultry, "then why did you pull me back when I went to leave?"

I had a reason! I knew I had. It wasn't that I didn't want her to go- it was… something else! Oh, I'd only just thought of it. And yet, looking at her now, I knew that it was just that I wanted her near me still.

At my silence, Lee's eyes turned triumphant, "were you after some sort of romantic gesture? Wanting for me to cry and weep and beg you to reconsider."

I snorted. "Because what we have is _so_ wonderful." I drawled sarcastically.

Lee rolled her eyes, standing gracefully and brushing her robes down. "I tire of this." She said, mood rapidly changing. "You're being ridiculous. If I did not know any better, I'd assume you were having your period."

Just then, I truly wanted to slap her. But no, that wouldn't help. And, besides, she was fierce- I wasn't sure I'd win a fight between us. "I'm dumping you because you won't _admit_ that we're together," I snapped, finally latching onto the right words to express myself. "I'm dumping you because you seem to caught up in looking like a skank to want to show commitment."

As always, when she got defensive, Lee laughed. "_You_ are lecturing _me_ about commitment?"

"Yes."

"Well. That seems rich." Lee was sitting down next to me again, eyes narrowed, "why do you want me to 'admit' that we're together, anyway? Why does it matter if no one else knows?"

"Why does it matter if they do?" I countered quickly, warming to the subject, "it really seems like you are trying to hide something, Lee, and I would really like to know why it would be so bad for people to know that we're-" I took a deep breath, "dating".

She actually hissed in irritation, instantly stiffening next to me. I had obviously caught her off guard, "we're not." She told me, sounding angry.

I had never imagined that when I finally liked a girl enough to offer to commit to her, she would be offended.

But I suppose I had never imagined Lee. I was never that creative.

What I was was incredibly short-tempered, and this lovely, distinctive quality of mine flowered under Lee's angry gaze. "And why not?" I demanded, "do you have any idea how many girls would kill for me to-to…"

"…Be able to finish your sentences?" Lee supplied, teeth gritted.

"To think of them like I think of you." I finished lamely, but, in Black fashion, it is not what you say, but how you say it, and I spoke like an aloof idiot, "I don't think you quite understand how many girls there are who would love to be right where you are now; just _wishing_ that I cared about them like I do you."

Well, Lee always did suffer from selective deafness, and she managed to filter out the subtle declarations of affection spattered throughout my piece, and focused on one, stupid point.

"Fine," she said, "go and find yourself one of those girls. I don't care. Go find yourself a nice little Gryffindor. A virginal maiden for you to boss around."

"I think I might at that," I snarled at her, "someone sweet and refined. Someone who hasn't slept with half the school."

"If she agrees to go out with you, Black, then she doesn't consider sleeping with half the school that big a deal," Lee told me, eyes gleaming with malice, "maybe you should just go and screw James instead. He's the only one who's ever been able to handle you, anyway. A match made in heaven."

That was a low blow, and no mistake. I felt my temper rising slowly. And then very fast, "why don't _you_, Lee?" I suggested, "seeing as it's the only way you can get a guy to like you. But I forget; James is the only person who has never, ever had any interest in you, isn't he? Probably because he's not shallow like I am."

"Shallow?" Lee asked, voice dangerously quiet, and I snarled.

"Yes. Shallow. See, I saw a good body and an alright face and thought 'why not?' what I didn't think about is how pathetic you are, how desperate to appear nonchalant. I didn't think about how you are so petty, and such a slut. My mistake." I stood, brushing dirt from my cloak, " I won't make it again."

Lee stood up as well, meeting my eyes easily, "you won't have the chance, Black." She hissed at me, "why should I spend my time with the boy who'll never grow up? The boy who disappoints _everyone_- betrays his best friends and disgraces his parents." Her smile was vicious, "where will you go, Black, when you've let everybody down to many times for them to forgive you?"

Both furious, we drew our wands, but our attempts to curse each other only resulted in a chunk of the Astronomy tower collapsing and groaning as it toppled off of the roof.

And so, hearing the squeals from below, we fled in different directions, anger still burning in our eyes.

…

_Dear Andi,_

_You are the least organised, most insanely oblivious cousin ever to walk this earth. When are you going to send me those pictures?_

_You popped that unfortunate child out weeks ago, and yet still I have no news? Unacceptable!_

_I need photographic evidence of this child, or I won't actually be able to believe that it is real. It is real, isn't it, Andi?_

_Please tell me! The suspense is driving me insane. In a week or too, I will have turned into a male version of you, and you will never hear from me again, because I will be just as unable to finish my letters (there is a not-so-subtle hint in there, if you look closely)_

I paused, quill held in mid air, dripping ink onto my letter.

"Sirius?" Remus asked, sounding mildly amused, "unless you're trying to do something artistic and make a pretty ink pattern on the paper, I would suggest that you lower that quill and finish your letter."

"Writer's block," I told him with a smile.

I had addressed the issue of baby Nymphadora (gods, what a name), and there were few other things I could speak about.

_Other than suffering high blood pressure and stress from waiting for your letters, I am pretty well. Exams are almost over(just the one left, but i'm in denial and pretending it doesn't exist so no more of that, thankyou) , and I will be spending the summer with James, which he is extremely thrilled about, although I haven't notified him of my future visit just yet._

And now? I wondered, staring down at the paper.

Andi had had two other questions for me; how are Sissy and Bella, and, why don't you talk about Aurelie any more?

_Now, dearest cousin, you had some…..difficult….. questions for me._

_Siss and Bella? Andi, I am going to admit it to you; I have no idea. They pretty much see me as an accomplice in your escape, and have blacklisted me (hah, __**Black**__listed) completely._

_I could tell you about how they are coming round, how they miss you and how we all had a picnic by the lake, Sissy and her lovely, new non-Malfoy boyfriend, Bella and Lestrange (who has turned over a new leaf and become an enviromentalist), myself and Dahlquist. But I would be lying._

_And that brings me to your second awkward question._

Again, my quill hovered above the paper, indecisive.

Dahlquist.

_Lee and I aren't really very close any more. We sort of drifted apart. Last I saw of her, she was hanging around with a certain Yves DuMont, and enjoying herself immensely. At least, I gathered this from the way his hand was positioned on her leg, and the way her tongue was diving down his throat. Apparently, her standards aren't too high. Or perhaps 'intelligence' in a man isn't one of her priorities._

I paused; the beginning was alright, but it ended on a particularly bitter note. Hastily, I crossed it out and began again.

_Lee and I aren't really very close any more. We sort of drifted apart. I haven't talked to her in a while, actually. She's been pretty busy being groped by DuMont and screwing half the year level._

Perhaps I was even getting worse at answering Andi's innocent query.

_Lee and I aren't really very close any more. We sort of drifted apart. I haven't talked to her in a while, but maybe it's for the best. She was a bit of a self-righteous slut, anyway._

With a snarl, I raked my quill across the lines I'd just written so viciously the parchment almost ripped. This would not do.

"Okay, there, Sirius?" Remus asked from the neighboring armchair, sounding mildly concerned.

"Just peachy," I answered through clenched teeth.

"How is Andi?" he asked.

"Just peachy." I managed to force out.

"Right. And how is the letter writing coming along?"

"Just peachy."

"Hmnnn, yeah, a lot of that seems to be going around," he commented, smiling, "what words come to mind when you imagine Macgonnagal and Slughorn making sweet love on your bed?"

"Just-" realisation dawned on me, and I turned to Remus, horror etched onto my face. "That is disgusting, Remus."

He chortled, evidently in a roguish mood. So roguish, in fact, that he was even making _sex_ jokes. What was the world coming to? "Here, let me have a look." He said, reaching out toward me. "I'm brilliant at letter writing."

"What kind of a talent is letter writing?" I snorted, caught between amusement and derision. "Go do some homework, or something."

Remus laughed and snatched my letter away. I leant back in my chair, groaning with frustration, as I waited for Remus' verdict.

He did not speak.

"So, can you save me, Remus? Rescue me from my own ineloquence?" I asked with a grin, opening my eyes. They fixed, happily, on Monica Lleywellyn, smiling prettily at me. As I watched, she flicked her hair and blushed. Dark hair Long dark hair which _wasn't_ blonde. Lovely.

I shot her a wink and flashed my smile at her. She blushed _again._ How novel to see a girl blush instead of smirk. So much better. I knew what I'd be doing with my night, Dahlquist be damned. With a chuckle, I turned back to Remus.

My grin faded at the sight of his face.

"Well, it isn't so bad. Why don't you word it '_Lee and I aren't so close any more. We sort of drifted apart' _and leave out the part about screwing the school." He dropped the letter back on the table, eyes gleaming, "and hey, if you really want to elaborate, you could add, _' and I should have backed off anyway, because my friend told me he was in love with her_'".

"Oh shit," I said.

Remus raised an eyebrow.

I probably should have been honest with him, come out with the whole story, but my encounter with James after he'd found out about Lily was still incredibly vivid in my mind, and I just couldn't bear to face that from Remus. Remus, who always thought the best of me. And so, I betrayed him again.

I lied.

"Oh shit, Remus," I continued from my earlier exclamation, "don't tell me you think we were up to something?" I gave a barking laugh. "Hell, reading too far into things much? We're just friends. Or, _were_ just friends. Since she started hanging around with DuMont I've left her pretty much alone."

Remus looked at me for a long moment, hard eyes gradually softening.

"It's true," I whispered, "hell, I would never do that to you." I pasted a thoughtful look on my face, "hell, I would never do that with _her_."

Remus held my gaze for a moment more and then sighed. "I believe you." He told me, breaking my heart. "And besides, it doesn't really matter anyway. It isn't as though there's much of a chance between the two of us, anyway."

I was faced with a choice: be a good friend, or be a selfish dick.

"Well, you don't really know that, Moony, I mean, you haven't asked her." I said quietly, and the selfish dick part of me screamed in frustration. "You two were pretty close, I mean, maybe she would give it a go."

Remus looked thoughtful, "yeah, maybe, I guess. But I'm not sure."

Despite the considerable efforts of the selfish dick part of me to prevent it, I said, "she really did miss you, you know."

Remus frowned, "yeah, I miss her too."

"Good." My smile was forced. "Settled. Make contact with her and see where it gets you." I said brightly, despite feeling like I'd taken an emotional beating. With a happy grin I leant over plucking my quill out of his hands, "now, how did you word that line?"

…

I had walked almost to the end of the corridor, without making eye contact or even acknowledging her presence, when I changed my mind and turned around.

"It was a little girl." I called sharply, voice echoing in the cavernous hallway. "Nymphadora, they called her." I couldn't help but smile again at the remembrance. "A bit of a mouthful, but then so is Andromeda. Or Narcissa. Or Bellatrix."

Bella stopped dead. She did not turn around and meet my reproachful glare, but the fact that she'd stopped at all at least indicated that she wasn't going to ignore me completely.

"And why, Black, would you assume I care?" she asked icily, still not turning to look at me. It was alright, though, I was used to talking to the back of her glossy head.

I shrugged, standing my ground, "I'm not sure. I suppose it was _incredibly_ silly of me to tell you the name of your niece. You know, your sister's baby?"

Bella was silent for a moment, but then she turned over her shoulder, so I could see her profile, and said loudly, her voice clear and ringing in the cavernous hallway. "I only have one sister."

I felt anger building up in me, "Why, has something happened to Sissy?" Bella laughed almost insanely, and I felt slightly vexed, continuing through bared teeth. "I was talking about Andromeda."

Bella answered instantly. "Contradicting my mother, are you?" there was a pause, before she spoke again, "_she_ swears that Sissy and I are her only daughters."

And then she walked off, leaving me standing in the hallway, utterly at a loss. I could have handled an explosion of rage, a veritable temper tantrum in the hall. I would have been fine with a physical assault of my person, or a quick hexing. But Bella had not reacted like that. She had not shown any anger at all- merely irritation, as though I was bothering her about an ant farm I was keeping, and that worried me. You see, anger is a sure indication of raw hurt, and hurt can be healed and turn back into love. But indifference? Indifference goes nowhere. How had Bella managed to exorcise her affection for her sister, and had Sissy done the same? Poor Andi.

"Oi, Black!" I turned around, still shocked from Bella's words, to see Lilly jogging towards me, smiling happily, her long red hair swinging behind her. With a shake of my head, I banished all thoughts of the cursed family Black from my mind, and summoned up my most charming and carefree expression.

"Ah, I smiled back at her, "Potter."

"Potter?" she frowned, half pleased but pretending to be irritated.

"Yes. Mrs Lilly James Potter. Has a nice ring to it".

Surprisingly, post relationship, Lily and I got along better than ever. We'd managed to salvage the rapport we'd developed as a couple, without any of the awkwardness which you'd expect. I would go so far as to say that our ill-fated foray into a relationship had been the best thing for us as friends.

Oblivious of my happy musings, Lily rolled her eyes, trying to suppress a smile, "idiot." She said affectionately. And have you seen _Mr_ James Potter around?"

I shook my head solemnly, "ah. Well, Mrs Potter, I expect you know that we males would _never_ rat out a friend while his missus was on the prowl. You'll just have to wait till he comes home to you."

She laughed happily. "Well, I suppose I'll be waiting a fair while, then."

"Indeed."

I paused for a moment, looking her in the eyes. She seemed so happy, so utterly content with her life. I had a feeling that James had something to do with that- even if neither of them were willing to admit it just yet.

"Hey, why aren't the two of you going out, anyway?" I asked gently, and she flushed red.

"I don't know…" she pushed her hair back off of her face, "he can just be so damn….." she paused, glancing sideways at me, and then away again, embarrassed.

I chuckled and ruffled her hair. One of the many advantages of being tall. "Don't worry, Evans," I whispered, "I won't say a word."

She smiled, "yeah, I know you won't say a word, I'm not planning on telling you, so you won't get the chance."

I paused. It was so close to what Lee had said that I almost laughed, but knowing how perceptive Lilly was, I decided to keep quiet, all the better for _not_ looking like a bitter lunatic.

"Suit yourself, but I have been known to give amazing advice on relationships."

"Sure you have." Lilly laughed.

"I have," I insisted.

"Well you obviously didn't use it to your own benefit when you had the chance," she observed casually, and then, upon looking at my face, slowly turned the colour of a tomato, "I mean….."

"What are you on about?" I asked jovially, completely unwilling to stray back into any territory which would lead me to an emotional breakdown.

Obviously of the same mind, Lily shook her head, "well, I don't know." She cast around for something- anything- to talk about that _wasn't_ my love life. "Um, how are you coming along with potions? I know that Slughorn is especially zealous at this time of year."

I shrugged, giving her a huge smile, "yes, well. Despite the massive workload he's dumped on us, he doesn't seem so fussed about what we complete. He's too excited about his little End of Year party to give a damn."

Lily's eyebrows shot up into her hairline, "did you get an invite, Black?"

I shrugged, "perhaps. I know _you_ got an invite."

Lily didn't bother denying it. She was Slughorn's token mudblood, to speak crudely. Talented, charming and beautiful, Lily's only fault was her heritage, in Slughorn's eyes. But it was a fault easily turned into an advantage, as he paraded her around, like a diamond he had plucked out of a dollop of shit.

"Most everybody _did_ get an invite," Lily pointed out in a half-hearted attempt at a defence, "I can't think of anybody who didn't."

This, I reasoned, could be taken as a warning. Was Lily subtly telling me that Lee would be present, _with _Dumont? Both of them were certainly talented and good looking enough to be considered 'promising', and Slughorn did so adore the 'promising'.

I decided not. After all, not everybody was as occupied with the end of Lee's and my secret relationship as I was. "Did Potter get an invite?" I asked, and Lily shrugged.

"I suppose so. Slughorn is forever talking about his Penhallow forefathers."

This was true. "If not, you could always take him yourself," I suggested innocently, and Lily's eyes narrowed.

"Please don't tell me that you're matchmaking, Black. I'm sure that isn't your forte."

I held up my hands in surrender, "good point. You're exactly right. I'm backing off already."

She grinned. "Well who are _you_ taking to this thing?"

Here it got a little complicated; I had yet to be invited, although, considering the way Slughorn salivated all over my work and my bloodline, it was a sure thing. "Ah, not sure, as yet. But maybe," I considered- to no avail. "Hell, I don't know…..ah, someone anyway."

Lily's eyebrows arched dangerously, "dear me," she smiled, "am I truly hearing this? That the famous Sirius Black, school rake, is unable to find a date?"

"No," I told her firmly, "you are not _hearing_, you are _assuming_, which, as you have probably already been told, is a very bad habit."

Lily grinned smugly and I got the feeling that she was pretty well convinced that her assumption was most definitely correct, which, in a way, it was.

"Look, I haven't even considered finding anyone yet, so give me a few days and I will be ready with a date and two understudies." I assured her and she laughed.

"Understudies?" she asked with a grin, "you have _understudies_?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but thought better of it. There was no way that this conversation could go anywhere good. "Goodbye, Potter," I smiled sweetly and she scowled. I felt the force of that scowl on my back even as I loped down the corridor to my final assessment of the year.

…

Alright, an explanation. At age 16, I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I had some vague picture of being rich and widely adored, and possibly bringing back that happy tradition of harems, but that was all, and as the year drew to a close, even those few aspirations dissolved into a big, fat pile of nothingness. I had little to no idea of what the future held. And so, you must forgive me when I admit that, in my 6th year at Hogwarts, I studied divination.

My official reason for this (as I told my professors) was that as I did not know what the future held for me, but my teachers would be prophetic; what better way to learn more about myself?

My official reason for my peers was that it was a bludge lesson, much needed and appreciated in my busy year, and also that I thought it would be a laugh to switch the incense to something a little bit more potent at regular intervals (ah, see! There is an aspiration!)

And my own reason? Well, I was in fact happy enough to use my two fabricated ones, as they seemed to sum up my own confusion well enough for me.

And so it was to the North tower that I went that day, in order to sit for my divination assessment. Such fun.

…..

"Alright," the examiner's voice was pitched rather low, and was perhaps huskier than the occasion demanded. But who was I to complain? If she really felt it added to her skills as a teacher…, "what do you see?"

_A wanker_. I cleared my throat, staring deep into the ball.

Divination is such a waste of time.

"Please, do not rush things." The examiner told me calmly. Rather redundantly, I thought, seeing as I hadn't actually spoken yet. But, biting my tongue, I simply nodded, still staring into the ball, "take your time." She warbled mystically.

"I'm taking it," I snapped at her.

She merely nodded pensively, and I wondered absentmindedly if perhaps the incense _was_ a little stronger than I had first thought.

I had specifically asked for something mild, and I was _sure_ that it had already been used up by now…

Well. No matter. I heard the examiner sigh. Apparently all this 'take your time, don't rush the spirits' crap didn't quite fly when you had a schedule to keep. She began to tap her fingers sedately against the desktop. I was preparing to exercise my rather impressive bullshitting skills when a picture began to form in the ball.

Rather shocked, I leant forwards, half knocking the table over. It swayed quite dramatically beneath its heavy layers of Indian style materials.

"Do you see something?" the examiner prompted, ceasing her finger tapping and summoning up her most mysterious voice.

"Give me a minute," I murmured, squinting now. "Yeah, ok. I think I do."

"Describe it to me."

"Ahh…..it looks like," I cocked my head sideways, aiming for a better view, "like a young girl."

"Pretty?" the examiner asked, and I nodded.

I could see long hair and long slim legs. She was sitting on something indistinct with her hands hooked into her belt, and her legs dangling loosely. Her shoulders were slightly hunched over, and her hair was blowing lightly around her shoulders. Her chin was tilted arrogantly upwards. I couldn't make out a face. Pretty? Yeah. Just the kind of girl I found attractive. I guessed she was even prettier than she seemed, but the fog of the crystal ball swamped her, like she was sitting on a cloud. A huge, thick rain cloud.

"But there's something off," I told the examiner, after describing her.

"Yes?"

I struggled to word my feelings, "she's pretty enough, only…..oh, I don't know."

"You can't see her clearly," the examiner frowned, "what would you say that means?"

"That you need to talk to the house elves about getting the smudges off these crystal balls." I suggested. She did not look amused. "Ok, maybe the girl in question lives in a storm cloud, no?" I had a feeling that unless I thought of something fast, I would fail. "I don't know her," I guessed, and then, with surprising conviction, "I won't know her. Ever."

"Perhaps she is your soulmate, separated from you by your incurable womanising." The examiner suggested rather snidely. I was impressed that she could sound so snide while maintaining her mystical voice. I could learn a lot from this idiot.

You know, when a teacher knows about your social activities, it gives you a kind of dirty, crawling feeling. There is something deeply unnatural about it.

"No, I don't think so," I told her, more out of shock at her words than actual conviction, "I don't think that's it at all."

"Alright then, what? Who?"

This seemed a rather demanding question to ask of me, seeing as I had never seen the girl before, and in fact by my own admission, could not see her face.

"Uh, just not a girlfriend," I told the examiner testily, "it's not that kind of thing."

"Well why would you see someone who wasn't important to you?" she asked pointedly, now giving up on her fortune-teller voice and sounding suspiciously sharp and down to earth. "It _must_ be a girlfriend."

"It isn't!" I snapped, "I don't feel that way about her."

"How would you know? It's a shadow inside a crystal ball!" the examiner cried, which struck me as a slight betrayal of her art.

"I just- Damn it! Drop it, ok?" I growled, imagining turning into a dog then and there and ripping out her bejewelled throat.

"You feel protective of her?" the examiner asked loftily, voice returning. I began to calm down- she had given up. But then… "She must be a girlfriend." She sounded annoyingly matter-of-fact.

I had a headache, and I could feel a vein in my head throbbing as I intoned, "she isn't my girlfriend. It just doesn't feel that way. It's more like…." I struggled for words, "like- a sister."

"Do you _have_ sisters?" the examiner asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not that I am aware of."

"Then a girlfriend?"

"No! Maybe." I thought back to all the boys whose sisters I'd seduced, and the revenge they wanted. "God, I hope not." I struggled again, "hell, a niece? A daughter?" I cringed at the thought.

The woman looked at me like I was crazy, and then smiled. "Well done, Mr Black." She breathed, waving her ring-covered fingers around in a gesture which was no doubt intended to appear regal and magical.

I started, mesmerized by the rings on her fingers. How had I not noticed them? How could she even lift her hand with so much shit on it? Wasn't it weighing her down? How strong _was_ she? With a superhuman effort, I dragged my mind back to the present. "Excuse me?"

"I said well done. Not many come up here and give me a genuine prediction. In fact, you are the only one in your year. You have 'the gift'." She gave a lofty smile and inclined her head towards me.

I had very few talents, unless charm counts, and so I was a little miffed to discover that my only forte would be something as stupid as divination.

Similarly disappointing was the realisation that the only prediction I could muster up was one which foretold of a pretty girl in a cloud. What the hell did that even mean? Were we in for some fog? Did my future involve chain smokers?

"Yay." I said halfheartedly, "lucky me."

"indeed," the examiner nodded sagely, "now, if you only practise, you might go far in this field. Work on your focus and your skills and I may even give you an O for your next grade."

"Wait," I frowned, "if I'm the only one who came up with a prediction, shouldn't I get an O anyway?"

The examiner laughed, "goodness, no. In what way did you complete the task?"

"Excuse me?" I repeated dumbly. She wasn't really making all that much sense, after all. I mean, assessment= look into crystal ball. See something. Describe something. Interpret something. I had done that remarkably well, considering.

She sighed, "Mr Black. The assessment is to looking into the crystal ball and make a prediction about _my_ future, not your own."

"Well you didn't exactly stop me as I went, did you?" I pointed out, rather put out.

"Well I rarely see such a clear prediction," she told me, "it would have been a waste to stop you."

"But not a waste that I fail?" I asked, incredulous.

She shook her head serenely.

Divination, my mysterious somebody, is a complete and utter waste of time, because even when it does give you a glimpse of your future, it does it in such a way that you are left even more confused than you were before, which in fact defeats the purpose utterly.

In memory as in life, I tend to avoid examinations and school in general, but for you, mysterious somebody, I have made an exception. Do you know why?

Did you spot the little bit of you that exists in my memory?

I shall assume it was you, in any case, as I have no idea who else I could care about in a fatherly way without knowing them. Of course, until quite recently I had little to no understanding of the prophecy whatsoever. It was only when my godson, Harry Potter, casually mentioned the existence of a young witch, whose last name just happened to be the same as that of another young witch, from long ago, whom I, coincidentally, had loved rather a lot.

And this in turn brought to mind the image of long hair, a pretty face and long legs, which summoned memories of a long ago vision glimpsed within a crystal ball.

I am hoping that my prediction is incorrect, or at least that my interpretation was wrong, because I cannot truly bear the thought of you and I co-existing without me ever knowing you. It seems unjust. It seems unfair. It seems like the kind of thing which would never have happened to charming, young Sirius Black, but exactly the kind of thing which would happen to insane, murderous death-eater Sirius Black, who gave up his friends, his home and his godson for the darklord.

But which am I? Which do you think I am, right now as I write this? You, and the rest of the world, do not know me. And if the whole of society thinks that you're one thing, do you not _become_ that thing, in a sense?

I'm certainly _not_ that boy who sat there, staring at a crystal ball and wondering which idiot made divination a subject.

So does the prediction still apply? If I'm not him anymore, does it still mean I won't ever meet you?

I don't think we will, you know. dDeep down, in fact, I don't think I will ever see you, and I suppose I would never know what to say even if I did. I have forgotten how to be charming, mysterious somebody. I have forgotten how to be Sirius Black. So perhaps it is a good thing that I saw you that day, sitting in a cloud and swinging your legs.

The world's way, I suppose, of showing me what my daughter would look like, in case I myself never came across her, face to face.

And would you like to know something odd, mysterious somebody?

I am so very, very grateful.

It is very nearly embarrassing.


	12. Chapter 12

Today, mysterious somebody, Nymphadora came over.

At first, I was unaware of this fact. It seems that Molly has deemed me a lost cause, and she no longer bothers to come up and find me when we have guests.

Or, more accurately (and more spitefully) when _I_ have guests, because it is, of course, my house. My house. My guests. My business.

...

"I do not _care_ if he is busy, I haven't seen him in _weeks_ and I would like to see him _now_!"

I sighed, half listening, concentrating on my writing.

No, that is a lie. A barefaced lie. I dropped my quill and leant back in my chair, placing my boots on the table (can you see those scuff marks over the second sentence? That was me) and lacing my fingers behind my head.

A simpler way of describing my doings would be to use the word 'eavesdropping'.

The next voice was a low and calming murmur, much too quiet to be identified, but luckily I knew of just _one_ individual who would bother talking to Nymphadora in a calming voice, and so decided that it was Remus downstairs.

"….Honestly do not believe that he _deserves_ to see you! No, do not _shush_ me, Remus, I am being completely serious. Honestly, you must all _stop_ humouring him! Day and night, squashed up in that tiny, dirty little room, surrounded by memories. I mean, what can he _possibly_ be doing, I ask!"

I smiled. Molly missed her sons, that much was obvious. But was it her sons she missed, or her role as a mother? I have never much liked mothers, so I believe I will not think of her as one. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean that she'll necessarily extend me the same courtesy.

Remus murmured something else inaudible, but no doubt interesting. In fact, I believe I will take a transcript.

N: He is _my_ cousin, Molly. I want to see him.

(_Thumping sound. Must assume Dora has stomped her pretty little foot and accidentally upended something)_ Oh, sorry, Molly. Here, I'll get that.

_(Point made)_

M: Don't worry, dear I have it. No, no, you stay right where you are. No, dear, it is _quite_ alright. Stay there! _(Said almost desperately. One must imagine a 'please' inserted at the end)_ In any case, dear, I know he is your cousin, and believe me, I could not be happier if he came down to see you! But that is the point, _he_ must come _down_. Don't you go chasing after him!

R: I don't think that you're giving him quite enough credit, Molly. You seem to assume that he is just lying up there, feeling sorry for himself….

_(I strained to hear this much, and felt rather betrayed that everybody was coming to such boring conclusions. Where is the person who suspects I have jumped out the window and run away? Where is the person who believes I am conducting experiments up here, searching for a way to defeat Voldemort? Honestly, my friends, where is the imagination?)_

M: He _is_ lying up there, feeling sorry for himself.

(_Molly seems to be in a bad mood.)_

R: I don't think so-

M: He _is!_

R: No, you see, the other day-

M: Lying around, in all that dust! Just _lying_ there!

R: but, Molly-

M: as though this whole arrangement is about _him_. As though we are all here for _him. _I-

N: Molly, let Remus speak.

_(A brief, but necessary period of silence, during which everybody present (including Molly) admires Nyphadora's courage in standing up to Molly in a rage. and then Remus is finally allowed to finish his sentence)_

R: I saw him the other day, and he was not just lying about, Molly. He was writing. Writing _something_. I'm not sure what, but it went on for pages and pages and pages. So much that I thought maybe it was something of Reg's, but then I realised that Reg would never write in purple ink….

N: _Purple_ ink? Are you sure?

R: Yes. I thought it rather odd myself.

N:Really? Purple.

(_Uttered in a kind of shocked tone, I am gratified to say. At least if they don't believe me to be capable of planning escapes, they have not yet begun to believe me the sort of person who willingly uses purple ink)_

M: Had you supposed, Remus, that it wasn't written by Sirius?

R: Molly, who-

M; Have you thought maybe that _she_ wrote it? That-

N: From what I gather, she would have been even less likely to use purple ink

_(correctly spoken by my young cousin, but causing an awkward period of silence. Someone, Dora, no doubt, laughs even more awkwardly)_

R: I think he is writing about his life.

M: his life? Why-

R: I'm not sure. I am hoping that it is not some kind of memoir, or memorium. I'm hoping he isn't planning to do _something_….

N: You think he might top himself?

(_This last uttered in irreverent tones. Ushers in much 'sshushing' on the part of Remus and Molly.)_

From then on, the conversation was conducted in much lower tones, which, despite my efforts, I could not hear.

The point of that little sideline story was to show you how much frustration I am giving my family, as well as to point out how gloomy my circumstances are, so gloomy that my friends seem to consider me a suicide risk. Now _that_ would be a little ironic for you, wouldn't it? I also told you because I thought it was funny.

But, we shall now move on.

To Slughorn's End-Of-Exams party.

Now, I believe that my last entry ended with me predicting my imminent invitation to said party, without actually having been invited or even approached as yet. Perhaps you find that arrogant. So you should. It is arrogant.

But, my arrogance had a tendency to lead me through to opportunities, just as my boastful insinuations oft tapped into the truth, and so, I was in fact approached by Slughorn not two days after.

Or, more appropriately, I was approached by one of Slughorn's minions, here to be named Regulus Black.

You can imagine the awkwardness there.

Slughorn, with all his wisdom and his inherent ability to read people, had somehow arrived at the conclusion that, as brothers, Regulus and I had some sort of relationship.

But those days were long gone. So long gone, that when I heard my name called as I walked hurried down the corridor one night, I almost jumped out of my skin.

...

"Bloody hell!" I hissed. Turning around, I caught sight of a dark, lanky figure in the shadows. As I watched, he stepped forwards, to reveal the face of my brother. Regulus had inherited my mother's flare for the dramatic.

I, however, had inherited my father's ability to appear cool, no matter the circumstances.

"On first name terms, are we?" I asked quietly, using my most disarmingly charming smile, "that's 'Black' to you,"

Reg's mouth twisted into a sort of grimace, "I would never call _you_ that," he spat, and I winced.

"You're right." I mused, "it should probably have 'Master' in front of it. '_Master_ Black. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"Shut up, Sirius," Reg hissed.

I had not stopped walking, and he had fallen into pace beside me. For a while, we were quiet, and I found myself wondering what the bloody hell my brother was playing at, what it was that he wanted, but I didn't ask. I figured that he would come to it in his own time.

I was right.

"Here," he muttered, thrusting something long and rectangular at me. An invitation. "Slughorn sent me to give it to you." Reg smiled wryly, and I was surprised to see how similar we looked when he did, "he seems to think that we share a _bond_ of some kind."

"Brotherly, perhaps?" I asked lightly, and he smiled. I scanned the invite again. "Speaking of familial bonds, how is our darling mother holding up?"

I wondered then if he would clam up, remembering how much we disliked each other, but instead he smiled again, "as sweet and charming as usual," then his smile dropped a few notches. "She misses you."

"You mean _you_ miss me. Now you're by yourself, you have no one left to blame things on,"

"Yeah, well." Reg jammed his hands in his pockets and frowned. He had a rather large pimple on his chin which had, by dint of being the size of his nose, captured my undivided attention, and so I was not watching his face, however by his voice alone I could hear that I had almost all my facts wrong. Reg missed me, but not because of mother.

In that moment I got an insanely clear sense of our relationship; he was, after all, my baby brother, and I did not know him at all.

"So," I said haltingly, "how is school?"

Reg shrugged and I agreed with his unspoken assessment of my attempt at conversation; absolute rubbish. But then, to my surprise, he answered.

"I'm doing really well. Mum's proud. Especially with the quidditch thing," he looked at me sidelong, "did you see my game last Saturday? Against Ravenclaw?"

I had spent the previous Saturday in a broom closet with Jessica Finch, who admittedly was the _Hufflepuff_ keeper, but we hadn't been discussing quidditch.

I didn't have to answer, my expression was enough.

"S'pose you'll be watching Friday, though," he muttered, and it wasn't a question. Friday's game was between Gryffindor and SLytherin, and I always watched James' games.

"Yeah," I conceded, "hey, I'll keep and eye out for you, right?"

Reg didn't say anything, just nodded stiffly, and I felt surprisingly ashamed.

We walked on in silence for a while longer, until I thought of something I could show my baby brother.

"Oi, take a look at this, will you?" I yanked the photograph out of my pocket, unfolding it carefully and passing it on.

Reg peered at it. "Illegitimate love child of yours?" he asked with a scoff, "am I an uncle now?" then he did a double take, holding it up to his eyes, "wait, is that hair _blue_?"

I laughed, taking it back. Baby Nymphadora gurgled up at me, clapping her pudgy little hands and beaming at the camera. As I watched, her eyes changed colour.

"Yeah," I said fondly, "she's a Metamorphmagus, silly little bub,"

Reg looked at me aghast. I suppose he didn't have much experience with cluckiness. Our mother certainly wasn't the clucky type, and neither, he had probably assumed, was I. But I had grown attached to baby Dora, simply because of all the anticipation. I had waited nine long months to see that ever-changing face.

"Who?" he asked simply, and I handed him a second photo.

In this one, Andi beamed up at the camera, and you could tell from her expression that it was Ted taking the photo. Baby Dora had taken bunches of Andi's hair in her hands and was yanking it firmly. Obviously impressed by it's length, she screwed up her face and skeins of long, dark brown hair sprouted from her head, while Andi looked on in mock horror.

Rather like the expression Reg had on his face then.

"But then this is-"

"Andi's kid, yeah. Our second cousin, believe it or not." I grinned and took the picture back. Reg stared at his empty hands. "Pretty powerful baby, don't you think? She'd make a great auror. Never need a single disguise, could rely on her wits to catch dark wizards."

As I said that, Reg's hands clenched, "so, her father is a-"

"Muggleborn?" I asked, getting slightly defensive, "yeah, that's right. This is him."

I shoved Reg another photo, this time of Ted holding Dora at arms length, laughing happily as tentacles sprouted from her fingers, inspired by her brand new octopus toy.

Reg didn't take it, just kept looking stonily ahead, walking slightly faster now.

I put the photo away, knowing enough about my brother to drop the subject. It was about that time I saw the drawing, peeking out from between a scroll and a loose sheet of parchment in his shoulder bag.

"What's up with the snake? Finding your inner artist? Or reptile enthusiast?" I asked with a frown. Reg stopped so suddenly that the aforementioned sheet of paper flew out of his bag and onto the floor. I retrieved it for him.

I caught a glimpse of a roughly drawn skull and the snake I'd seen before, and then Reg tugged it out of my grip. "It's nothing," he muttered, and then looked at me for a second, "just a- just a club I'm part of," he paused, "it's pretty cool, actually. Uh, maybe, do you want to check out a meeting with me? There's one tonight…."

"Can't" I answered absently, "meeting up with James." I was, too. It was a full moon that night, and Remus needed our company.

It was the absolute worst thing I could have said. Reg's eyes flashed and his hands clenched, "sure you are," he said silkily, and I was almost afraid of him. "Sure you are. I suppose you're going to stay with P_otter_ during the holidays too."

"Yeah," I said warily. "What's it to you?"

I thought he was going to say something then, but then his eyes sort of closed over, and his mouth hardened, and he muttered, "nothing"

The next corner we came to, I turned left and he turned right. In fact, turning right would have gotten me to James that much faster, but I knew Reg and I had been 'conversing' for too long by that stage.

So by the time I met up with Peter and James, Lupin had already been taken into the whomping willow, and James was getting impatient.

"Bout bloody time," he muttered, but he smiled to let me know that he wasn't all that angry. "Thought you must've fallen down the girls' toilets by accident. Or on purpose. Would have given you an excellent view."

"Shut your face," I laughed, "as though I need to sit in a toilet to get an excellent view."

James clapped me on the back, and pulled out the cloak, waggling it around, "ready, gents?" he asked.

"Always." I answered, "and you, ma'am?"

He just laughed again, and we all huddled under the cloak together, walking down the corridor, side by squished up side. And I realised then, with something between sadness and regret, that James was much more my brother than Reg was. Lee had been right.

…..

Thinking back on that night, I wonder how much fate rested on my response to Reg's invitation. His 'club' was the Death Eaters, obviously, so if I _had_ gone, would I have told Dumbledore about what was going on right under his nose? Would I have been able to name and identify dozens more Death Eaters when the war actually began?

Would I have convinced my baby brother of the cruelty and lunacy of his new 'friends', and thereby saved his life?

Voldemort killed him, you see. Killed your uncle himself, I'm told.

Because Reg _did_ eventually see the wrong in his actions, and he did, I suppose, rebel. What if I had helped him see it earlier, instead of running off to play with my friends? Would he still be here?

And how much would _that_ change?

First of all, you would be living with him, as your closest of kin. Would you be happier of sadder, I wonder? Or maybe, he would have vouched for me when I was accused of killing James and Lily, and saved _my_ life, meaning you would be living with me now.

How cruel, then, that I chose to care more for the immediate concerns of my friends than the pain and suffering of my young brother.

But, if I mope I will only bore you, mysterious somebody, and that is something I find myself unwilling to do.

You see, I am sure that you are reading this. I can feel it. Once I told myself that you would not read it; you would burn it or cast it away. But somehow, through writing to you, I have come to know you as well. I hear your doubts; how can I know you when we have never met? But in fact, I can. Because I am remembering now, remembering _her_, and through her, you.

And I know, mysterious somebody, that you will not throw this away. You will read it again and again. At first, it was curiosity, wasn't it? You just wanted to see for yourself what your father was like. And then, the second time you read it, you told yourself that you wanted to examine your mother, to see how I loved her and how she tolerated me. You wanted to make the memories in this manuscript your own, so that as you walked the halls of Hogwarts, different places would have new significance for you.

That is where they met. There, where they kissed for the first time. There again where he realised he loved her. And so on, and so on. Endlessly on.

I suppose it is for this reason that I have said so little about James and Remus and Reg, yet so much about _her_. I knew that _this_ is what you would want to hear.

And on that note, I know why you will open this a third, then fourth, then fifth time.

It will be, mysterious somebody, so that you can hear my voice.

Am I right, mysterious somebody? Have my arrogant assumptions led me to correct conclusions yet again? I do hope so. I do hope that you want to hear my voice.

I so want to hear yours.


	13. Chapter 13

Dear me. I seem to have gotten so carried away with reminiscing about my brother and fate, waxing lyrical (and philosophical) about life, that I forgot the point of this entry:

Slughorn's Party.

I promised to tell you of it, and I shall. In fact, in order to avoid being distracted by present day episodes with Molly about my reclusiveness (reclusiveness? Well, yes _naturally,_ Molly. After all, I _am_ a bloody recluse! I'm a fugitive, what, am I supposed to be sociable?), I will begin today's tale without further ado.

….

"My god, is that chalice _dancing_?" James gaped, and I snickered.

The chalice was, in fact, dancing, while a fourth year made desperate lunges in an effort to recapture his drink. Ignoring his pains, the chalice promptly grew legs and clicked his heels happily together in a jolly cabriole.

Standing beside James, Remus watched the scene with tired eyes. The full moon had left him drained, and his hair was even messier than usual, despite our best efforts to calm it.

"I wonder who he got to charm it?" Remus asked now, sounding exhausted.

A passing student gave him a funny look, obviously coming to the conclusion that Remus found dancing chalices extremely depressing, and wondering how it was that such an odd individual was in the company of James and myself.

(Arrogant again, you see.)

"Don't know," I told him honestly, examining my own goblet, "but the moral of this story, children, is clear. Drink it before it runs away." To illustrate my point, I sculled my own goblet, causing James to cheer with pride and follow suite.

Remus, however, just tightened his grip on his own drink, which squealed in protest, making the butterbeer inside it froth angrily.

James laughed at that, pushing up the too-long sleeves of his dressrobes and placing his own chalice on the table. With a triumphant squeal, it scuttled away.

We all watched it leave, bemused.

"Was it something I said?" James asked, eyes full of mock hurt. Remus gave a tired smile and took a sip of his drink.

With a sigh, his eyes settled on me, "Sirius." He said suspiciously, "what are you thinking?"

I looked up from my intense and calculating study of James' chalice, "oh, nothing." I said sadly, taking a sip of my drink. And then, "do you think that they'd feel it if we set them on fire?"

My goblet gave a shriek of alarm and wrestled free of my hand, running off to join James'.

"I wasn't going to do it!" I called after the poor goblet, "I just thought that it'd be a great way to freak out old Madam Pince."

James grinned, "flaming dancing chalices." He said dreamily.

"Flaming _what_?" Lily glided towards us, a vision in green dress robes. She smiled broadly at us, "I do hope you boys are behaving."

"We always behave," I told her, and when she frowned in disbelief I quickly added, "well you didn't specify as to _how_ we are supposed to be behaving. For instance, we are currently _behaving_ like children. But still, undeniably _behaving_"

James nodded in agreement. "And at the moment, Sirius is _behaving_ like a complete prat, and in just a second, I will be _behaving_ like a horrible friend and leaving him to play with his chalice while you and I dance, Lily."

Lily smiled. "Indeed? Well, if you just give me a moment, I will _behave_ like a well brought up girl and show you just how to waltz, that is _if_ Lee behaves like the fabulous person we all know she is and decides to show up!" Lily glanced around the crowd as she said this, apparently searching for her erstwhile friend.

It had been just under a week since our little moment by the lake. Thinking back on that now, I wondered if that had been a significant event? It was at the very least ironic. _"Do you want to go to the lake_?" I'd asked her, and it had been the beginning of our conflicts about keeping the relationship private. And yet, by the lake was where our friendship perhaps began to mend.

I didn't want to kill her anymore, at least.

Well, not a lot.

"I'll find her," Remus volunteered, bringing my mind back to the present. "I need to talk to her anyway." Lily rolled her eyes and nodded in agreement, and Remus shot me a look of excitement and gratitude that I really did not deserve, before shooting off into the crowd. Feeling a little bored, I glanced around for my chalice. It had ventured just a little too close, obviously lulled into a sense of false confidence by my little daydream. With a vicious grin, I trapped it, and refilled it before it could protest.

"Which leaves Black." Lily said sympathetically.

"Yes, which leaves me." I agreed, and Lily looked suddenly guilty. I gave a barking laugh. "Oh, go dance! Better to be the lone wolf than the third wheel. I promise you I will survive." She still looked unsure, and I rolled my eyes. "Lily, you _know_ me." I said seriously, "this is a party. There are _girls_ here- how much longer do you _really_ think I'll be alone?"

James shrugged in agreement and Lily grinned and, guilt thoroughly alleviated, they skipped off into the crowd.

And I was alone.

Literally alone, because, while being a fabulous and self-sacrificing friend, I had loosed my grip on my chalice, which had squirmed free _again_ and was currently doing a wild polka with the fourth year's chalice, while the poor fourth year continued to lunge for it. Persistence; it can be _such_ a burden.

Enjoying my solitude, I glanced absently around the room, observing the décor and the dancers with a condescending air which would have given my mother the chills. Thinking of my mother reminded me of the thoroughly inappropriate girl I had taken as a date tonight; which one was she, again? It was either Maureen Mackillon or Molly's cousin Helena- but I couldn't remember which of the two I'd asked. I grimaced to myself; _that_ would no doubt be a problem later on.

"Enjoying the party?"

I stiffened, I will admit. Because that voice, lilting and undeniably accented, was one I recognised. "Dahlquist," I drawled in greeting, "Remus is looking for you."

She grinned wryly, and there was (as always) no sign of uneasiness. With us, it was either happy or furious, but somehow, even with all of those crazy mood swings, there was never any awkwardness. We always seemed to know where we stood. "Everybody is looking for me!" Lee announced dramatically, flopping into a large armchair strategically positioned behind us.

"Naturally," I agreed, perching on the armrest, "and you yourself are _looking_ predictably lovely tonight."

She raised an eyebrow. "Predictably, you say?" With a pained expression, she shrugged one shoulder, "I _detest_ predictability."

"You could always try looking ugly once in a while." I suggested, and she grinned again.

She really was looking gorgeous.

Her dress robes were darkest blue, which looked lovely against her pale skin and dark eyes, and her hair had been left to curl prettily around her face. It was shorter than I remembered, but that suited her. Of course, this _was_ a school function, and it was Lee we were talking about, so the dress robes did end just short of being completely vulgar, and were slashed across the hem to reveal a black lace petticoat underneath. She caught the direction of my gaze and smirked. I rolled my eyes. Typical Lee.

"Did you forget your pants?" I asked scathingly.

She shrugged, "_forget_ implies an accident." Her fingers drummed on the armchair in a restless tattoo. "I did _this_ on purpose."

Dear god. Now I was smiling. Every fibre of my being resented this ease between us; we'd had a horrible break up- why weren't we fighting?

But it was always pointless to go against Lee. FINISH

"What is it you want?" I asked, bluntly, but without being overly rude. Some girls cannot handle frankness, and for their benefit I pad my questions with compliments, but Lee was not such a one, and I knew that any sarcastic compliments I threw her way would only be shot right back at me with lightening speed and twice the sting. We hadn't _really_ spoken since our 'break-up'- this visit had a purpose. It was best to get to the point.

Lee fingered her goblet, which, typically, showed no signs of wanting to move off and dance a frantic jig across the table top. It swayed placidly in her hands, staying obediently still whenever she took a sip.

"To be friends," Lee told me, looking up and meeting my gaze evenly. I tried to stifle my surprise. "I miss you. A leetle bit,"

The accent alone told me that she was serious.

I had vivid recollections of the intense hate between us after our first romantic adventure (the ill-fated kiss), and decided that her attempt to ease _this_ year's affair into a friendship was a reasonable one.

Should I make her grovel? Make her squirm? I cast my gaze back to her, only to find her _still _watching me, a knowing look on her face.

'Don't try it', her expression said.

I sighed. It probably wasn't worth the effort anyway. "Alright." I agreed, marveling at how natural it felt to talk to her again. "What's brought this on?"

"Must _everything_ have a motive?" Lee asked liltingly.

I paused, mid way through finishing my drink, and pointed a finger at her. "Slytherin." I said.

She gave a heartfelt sigh and leaned back in her chair. "Honestly, _chien_?" I suppressed the urge to wince at her use of my pet name. "I figured you owed me for all of my wine that you drank the other night."

I wasn't quite in the mood for her banter, but I felt myself smile anyway. "Lee." I said warningly, and she rolled her eyes.

"Fine." She said, sounding almost snappish now. She leaned forwards and met my gaze. "Yves went off to fetch us some drinks, and I saw you across the room, and remembered being hauled into Macgonnagal's office after that picnic by the lake, and decided I missed you."

"Did I forget to put my clothes on today, then?" I asked dryly, "can't think of what else would put you in mind of that picnic-cross-skinny dipping session"

"Ah! So you remember, then?"

I grinned, "Lee, you were swimming naked in the lake."

She raised an eyebrow, "are the English so prudish that their definition of 'naked' involves underwear and a shirt?" I shrugged and shot her an evil grin. She threw her hands up in exasperation, "I was wearing clothes!" she exclaimed.

I laughed, "not the way _I_ tell it." I teased, nudging her playfully.

"Lee?"

Both of us turned, but only one of us smiled.

"_Mon cherie_," Lee said languidly, reaching for the drink Yves Dumont proffered. "You took a while."

"The glasses kept running away," Yves told her with a smile, brushing her fingers for just a little too long as she took the drink. Lee looked up at him from under her lashes and winked.

"Perhaps they caught sight of your face?" I suggested drolly. But my hands were clenched into fists as I met his gaze.

Let me rehash, in case you've forgotten; Yves Dumont and myself did not have a good relationship. It just so happened that, as children, we had often played together, something which I had always found odious, because although we got on reasonably well, Yves' mother, Marie, was a bitter old cow, who lived through her children's accomplishments. Much like my own mother, in fact.

Now, this made for a bad mix, as our mothers, who were usually left to sing our praises to empty rooms, would have each other to talk to, which as a rule resulted in competitions between Yves and myself, which predictably ate away at any friendship we once might've shared.

That competition which they installed in us continued on into Hogwarts, where we met again, and, being of similar levels of intelligence and physical attractiveness, until it turned into something the school community took for granted. As standard as exams, back then.

It didn't make sense for me to be jealous; it _really_ didn't. After all, as I'd told myself countless times, and as I'd proved by the multitude of girls I'd gotten personal with since, I was _over_ Lee.

And I had no right to get angry at the way Yves was touching her- he was her… boyfriend, lover- _whatever_- not me. I was just the ex. The _secret_ ex that nobody knew about because apparently I wasn't _worth_ a public relationship.

I felt my bitterness swirl, mixing with my usual competitiveness with Yves, and gave a slow, malicious smile. "Lee and I were just reminiscing, isn't that right, _cheton_?"

Lee raised an eyebrow, not missing the significance of my reinstating her pet name. Yves did not miss it either.

"Indeed?" he asked, effectively silencing me by putting a hand on the nape of her neck, "reminiscing?"

I smiled charmingly, reclining so that my arm was draped across the back of Lee's chair. "That's right." I said with a hollow chuckle. "God, we had some good times, didn't we?"

Lee declined to answer, choosing instead to swirl the mead in her chalice around, much to its dismay. It looked frightfully dizzy.

"Ah. So sad that they are _over_, then." Yves said with a sympathetic smile. Smarmy bastard.

Our conversation progressed in this manner, and with each barb we shot at each other, we both moved closer in towards Lee, until I had my leg dangling over the arm rest, nudging her foot, and was playing with her hair, and Yves had one arm around her waist, the other stroking her wrist.

Finally, Lee had had enough.

"Get _off_!" she yelped, as I accidentally tugged her hair, and Yves elbowed her in the stomach. "_Putain de Merde_! I feel like a doll you are playing with!"

With effort, she disentangled herself from the two of us, and stood firmly in front of the chair, hands on hips, hair a mess and robes crinkled.

Yves and I had sunk into the chair she had been sitting on, and were now tangled up with each other, gaping at her in amazement.

"What?" she demanded, eyes black with rage. "Oh, I am _so_ sorry eef I 'ave got in ze way of your attempts to prove your man'ood. Please be sure to notify me when ze winner is selected. I assume zat I am ze prize?"

Yves and I scrambled to our feet, utterly unable to appear dignified. Lee watched us with calculated disgust, lip curled up in disdain. As we attempted to straighten ourselves out, she gave a heartfelt scoff.

"Lee, don't be like that." Yves said plaintively. "It was just a conversation."

"You Eeenglish and your 'conversations'." she scoffed again, running a hand through her tangled hair and shooting a heated glare at the poor fourth year from before. This seemed to be the last straw for him, and with a sigh, he ceased trying to recapture his goblet and backed slowly away, his face an odd shade of puce. Lee watched him leave, head tilted upwards in contempt.

She was not in the best of moods.

Yves, apparently sensing this, initiated efforts to try and placate her. Moving slowly, so as not to incur her veritable wrath, he began speaking to her in calm, 'seductive' tones.

So he thought.

"Stop patronising me!" she hissed at him, eyes flashing. "Mon dieu! I am not a child!"

"Ah, cherie," Yves smiled broadly, and stretched out a hand, "I know that."

And here, mysterious somebody, lies the difference between Yves and myself. Yves was faultlessly charming and singularly witty, but he had little to no understanding of other people. If he _thought_ he was being charming, he assumed they were charmed.

Now my own brand of charm, on the other hand, was specifically tailored to the individuals around me. I altered my demeanour to suit the situation, which was why I never made the mistake that Yves was making then.

"Do you?" Lee asked in French, a sure sign of a temper tantrum in the making. "I suppose from the way that you're speaking to me now, you think I'm your _whore_."

I just sat, watching. Lee in a rage was rather like a fire. If you feed it oxygen, it will only get bigger, and Yves was innocently shovelling that oxygen on. I was surprised he had managed to survive this long without Lee cutting off his dick, seeing as he apparently had no knowledge whatsoever of her personality. It was almost impressive. Clearly, he was a survivor.

I was not a survivor. Not usually, anyway. To actively try and survive took effort- I generally just relied on my charm to get me through. But with Lee, I had somewhere along the lines developed an innate understanding of her moods, and so knew how to navigate them. Which was why, despite being in the wrong, I was escaping the brunt of her anger.

Naturally, the smallest little dig at either Yves or Lee would draw her attention (and instigate my demise) and so I forced myself to stay silent, despite the many opportunities for _hilarious_ additions to their conversation.

My patience paid off. Before my eyes, Lee and Yves bickered furiously. Or rather, Lee bickered while Yves sulked, the pair of them watched avidly by countless younger students. But I escaped blame.

Eventually (probably after Lee insinuated that he was _not_ as well endowed as he seemed to believe) Yves' cool demeanour snapped and the pair of them engaged in open shouting in the middle of the room. When they finally tired of this debacle, Lee flipped him off and flounced away, and Yves rolled his eyes and stalked off in the opposite direction. A small part of me gloried in the couple's fall from grace.

Perhaps I lie. Perhaps it was a large part of me.

In any case, I did not dwell on it for long.

I was suddenly distracted by the simultaneous approach of both Maureen _and_ Helena (Merlin, which one of them was my damn _date_!), which for obvious reasons necessitated a retreat.

I didn't get too far before I'd been hounded down again.

"Sirius, m'boy!" A first year ducked hastily out of the way of Slughorn's belly as he walked towards me, beaming, "I _knew_ I could rely on your brother to get you to this party." He exclaimed happily, cheeks a hearty red. "Yes. Yes, indeed. A talented chap, young Regulus, although I must say, he seems to lack your flare."

I smiled tightly at the professor, keeping one eye on my date(s). "Really, sir? What a pity. But, I suppose not everybody can be perfect now, can they?"

Slughorn chuckled, clapping me on the back. "No, indeed, they cannot, young Master Black. And one of you is _quite_ enough for the professors here at Hogwarts to be getting on with, wouldn't you say?"

Indeed I _would_ say.

But I didn't. Instead, I sought out Lily and James on the dance floor. They were whirling happily around, both of them apparently oblivious to James' total lack of coordination. For such an exemplary quidditch player, he really had no grace whatsoever.

"Ah, yes. Evans and Potter." Slughorn nodded sagely, following the path of my gaze. "A good match. A _very_ good match, even considering Miss Evans' _unfortunate_ background.'" He must have noticed the incredulous look I shot at him, because under my gaze, he quailed and turned rather pink in the face. "Well, nonetheless, imagine a child of theirs. Her talent for magic, his reflexes. Her charm…..wonderful!"

He looked rather wistful as he said it, and I wanted to throw up.

"It is probably a bad idea to stray into that kind of territory when discussing your students, _sir_," I smiled, looking down my nose at him. "Perhaps you ought to breed dogs instead?"

Slughorn laughed rather nervously, and squeezed his chalice so hard that it squealed in protest and jumped from his hands. I suppose he was reconsidering his earlier joy and my presence, and I suppose he had good reason. I was abominably rude, but then, I did so _love _to shock.

And to offend. As he watched, I looked him up and down slowly, smiled rather condescendingly, and flipped my cloak over my shoulders. "Lovely party." I told him, S_uch_ a nice job you did on the glasses."

You'd suppose that after demonstrating my utter lack of social graces (disappointing considering my upbringing) Slughorn would have thrown me out. _I_ certainly thought he might. And I was glad- if I wasn't there, nobody could get angry with me for forgetting that they were my date.

But Slughorn didn't kick me out. Or scowl. Or dock points for my insolence. Instead, a strange look came over his face, and he began to smile jovially again. With an indulgent chuckle, he clapped me on the back again.

"Ah, Sirius!" he said sadly, "I _do_ wish you had been in my house. What are you planning to do after next year?"

This seemed more than slightly out of the blue, and so, at a loss, I said the first thing that came into my head; and I admit, to my shame, that it was the god awful truth.

"I want to be known." I told him with trademark arrogance. "I want every single household to know my name. I want to be notorious."

God. At sixteen, I did not even want adoration from the public, I craved only recognition. How utterly adolescent. No doubt I thought of evil as more interesting than good.

"Hmmm," Slughorn frowned. "Politics, then?" His eyes lit up and he snapped his fingers together gleefully. "I know _just_ who to introduce you to. Lovely chap- most obliging- name of "Fudge". Cornelius Fudge. Always eager to please, young Cornelius is." He chortled happily and I ducked behind him to avoid Helena, who was walking purposefully past. He seemed oblivious. "Or perhaps you'd prefer Scrimgeour. Ruthless, quite ruthless, he is. Actually, yes. Scrimgeour. We aren't as close, but I think you'd find Cornelius a little dull."

I sighed. "Professor- they're _politicians._" I said, exasperation showing on my face, though it stemmed more from my frustrating need to hide from Helena and Maureen. "They'll _all_ be dull."

He just chuckled. "Would you do me a teensy favour, Mr Black?" he asked, and then, without waiting for an answer, beckoned to someone in the crowd. "Just stand right there, thattaboy."

A very small man with a very large camera was approaching, which struck me as slightly unusual, but I'd learnt long ago to take such things in my stride. A photographer hired specifically for Slughorn's highschool Christmas party? Why not? As I considered this, I felt a hand descend on my shoulder, and jumped, disliking the contact. Slughorn chuckled, not moving his hand."Just a little souvenir, a momento of tonight." He assured me, and then the camera flashed.

I suppose that, somewhere around his office, wherever that bugger is now, there is a photo of me, buried beneath mountains of paperwork. He was never the type to throw things away, he always kept anything he perceived as even mildly useful tucked away in case of a rainy day, although, I can only imagine the terrible day when my photo would be a source of amusement to the man.

For many years that photo was up on his shelf, you know? He was convinced that something good would come of me, convinced that one day mine _would _be a household name. Perhaps a politician, as he'd envisaged. Or maybe even a male model/socialite. But somebody- he was sure I'd be _somebody_.

Well, he was almost right. And I, as fate would have it, has been _entirely_ right. I _am_ notorious. Every wizarding family knows my name; the crazed killer from Azkaban, who betrayed his friends for the Dark Lord.

There you are, mysterious somebody, you have a famous father.

Excited?

No, I wouldn't think so.

But, excited or no, we must now return to a moment in time when notoriety was but a happy dream for me, and much more real was the fact that I had been half blinded by the flash of a bloody great camera. "What was that?" I spluttered, inelegantly, and Slughorn chuckled.

"Enjoy the party, m'boy," he told me, and then his eyes darted across to something over my left shoulder. "And, er, don't have _too_ much fun." He frowned momentarily, then smiled again, the teacher in him vanishing to reveal the schemer. "Although, _that_ would be an even better match than the other" he said cryptically, clapping me on the back one last time before waddling away.

I blinked. "What?" I asked his retreating form blankly, and then I felt a light tap on my shoulder.

Lee was standing behind me, looking rather sexy, in a vindictive-bitch sort of way. "Dance with me?" she asked liltingly, "I am trying to make Yves jealous."

Well. Who could say no to such an attractive offer? Certainly not I, being less noble than my friends, and much more graceful. And so, half an hour later, we were still dancing, neither of us with the slightest thought of going any further than that, simply because dancing was, at that moment, enough for the both of us.

You see, mysterious somebody, I happen to be, in fact, rather graceful. Now, dancing at one of Slughorn's little gatherings was not quite like dancing was in the real world at the time. No rock, no pop. No moves that _everybody_ knew. Back then, we waltzed. We tangoed, and threw in the occasional fox trot. We were, in short, very traditional.

Lee, I realised quite soon after we had started dancing, was not half bad. Typical of her, I suppose. She never could bear to be mediocre at anything, least of all things I was good at. She made a good partner, and we were evenly matched,

Of course, within moments I had told her of Slughorn's opinions regarding James and Lily, and she agreed wholeheartedly with his assessment, even looking as though she didn't consider it odd of him to consider the benefits of breeding the two of them (although she did assure me that she considered the entire thing to be ridiculous and thoroughly pathetic- _very_ English).

However, when I moved on to Slughorn's apparent opinions concerning the two of us, she was slightly less offended than I had imagined. In fact, rather than explode with rage and indignation, she threw back her head and laughed. Were I at that point in time considering giving our relationship another try, I would have been seriously affronted. As was, I was merely puzzled.

"Something funny?"

Lee flicked her hair over her shoulder and pinned me with a rather piercing gaze, the kind I liked to turn on people, and didn't appreciate having used on me.

Which was probably why she used it, I suppose, in hindsight.

In my life, before and after, I never met anybody quite as contrary, myself _ex_cluded, of course.

"What, you would rather I took it seriously?" she asked archly. And she had a point. Also note that her accent is gone, which, as you may correctly assume, meant that she had calmed down.

"No," I answered, spinning her around to avoid Maureen. "But I thought you would be offended."

Without missing a beat she ended the turn in a dip, raising once eyebrow as she looked at me. "You seem…disappointed."

"Well, yes," I admitted, "you are rather amusing when offended."

Had I said something like that an hour before, she would have taken my head off. Or my balls. Either way, I would have been maimed or dead. However, I excel at timing, and gambling, and exercised these abilities now, by _assuming_ that enough _time_ had passed for me to be able to _gamble_ my balls/head against a laugh.

She laughed, of course, then met my eyes frankly.

I wondered then (as you have probably been wondering for the length of this memory) why I was being so friendly. Alright, I no longer bore her _too _large a grudge, but we were acting as though the month since last we'd talked had been mere hours. As though our fight was easily brushed off, like an impassioned discussion on the value of flubberworms; unimportant and easily put in the past.

But it wasn't an impassioned discussion on the value of flubberworms; it was a loud and very angry fight between two people far too similar to get along.

Even as I thought this, I stiffened, and Lee raised her eyebrow again. I swear, she may as well have had it surgically grafter to her upper forehead, it was raised so often.

"Problem?" she asked.

I shook my head; if she could be unconcerned, _I_ could be doubly unconcerned. "Should there be?" I asked coolly.

"No," Lee answered coldly. "There _shouldn't_ be- so why have you stopped dancing? The pace too much for you?"

I felt a surge of rage. "No." I said through gritted teeth. "Of course not. But I never actually _wanted _to dance with you- maybe _that's _why I've stopped."

Lee shot me a look full of disdain and lifted her hands off my shoulders with a flick of her wrist, like she'd been touching something disgusting. "No one is _forcing_ you." She sniffed. "You could always go back to your _date_."

Oh, yeah. Remind me who that was again?

"You could always go back to your precious Yves." I countered, and Lee smiled viciously.

"I _could_." She agreed. "Or any of these other boys- they'd all have me in a heartbeat."

It was true- if a rather vain thing to say. But they were all watching her, sort of wistfully, to their girlfriends' dismay. I gritted my teeth.

"And you'd take every last one of them." I snarled. "Probably all at once, if you could."

She lifted her gaze to meet mine, angry and imperious. I _loved_ Lee in this mood. "Who says I haven't already?" she snapped maliciously.

Of course that would make me angry- and it wasn't even true.

"Oh, I'm sure that's the _last_ thing anybody would say about you." I drawled, and her eyes flashed with anger. But she didn't walk away, because in her twisted little mind (a mirror of my own) that would constitute a surrender, and I would _not_ be allowed to win by default. Indeed, I would not be allowed to win at all.

Writing this down, I suppose it sounds rather romantic; the most beautiful couple dancing stop suddenly, with eyes for nothing but their partner, while the rest of the couples twirl around them. Beautiful, intense; a poignant scene.

In reality, not so much.

"Ouch," I muttered as a Hufflepuff careened into me.

"Sorry, mate," he smiled back, already merging back into the crowd, to make room for the next person, who bumped into me, then trod on my foot.

Lee had apparently figured a way around this; she was moving whenever a couple came nearby. Just little steps to the side of forwards, but enough for her to retain her dignity while I had none.

And oh, did I have none. Lee could tell, too, and it was apparently a source of great amusement to her, because her sombre mien dropped away, and she raised an elegant hand to her mouth and started laughing.

I pursed my lips, (yes, _pursed_ them, and yes, I am aware that that is _not_ a masculine thing to do). "Something funny?" I snapped.

Lee laughed harder, clearly nodding an affirmative answer.

I pursed my lips (don't say it!) more. "Now, listen here-" and then, a fifth year barrelled into me, knocking me over and stealing my last shred of dignity while Lee gave up pretending to stifle her laughs and let loose, tossing back her head and roaring with mirth. "Bugger off!" I snapped at the fifth year shoving him back. I was furious, now. Fighting with Lee came as naturally as breathing to me, but losing a fight? I _hated_ that. And the fifth year would bear the brunt of that anger.

Just my luck, I had chosen one with a temper. "No _you_ bugger off," he pushed me back, this time squarely in the chest. His partner giggled.

I suppose, as a teenager, you still have that innate sense which lets you know whenever a fight has broken out anywhere within a five mile radius of yourself. Yes? Of course. I remember it well.

So, you will know instinctively, that as that idiot of a fifth year pushed me, and his stupid girlfriend giggled, the music stopped, the talking ceased, and every single head turned out way.

We, too, had by now gotten the scent of the fight, and whipped out our wands.

"You think you're so cool, eh, Black?" the fifth year snarled, "you think you're so friggin' tough."

I shrugged, employing an evil smile, "doesn't everybody?"

The boy, and I kid you not, actually spat on the floor. I know, disgusting. A huge globule of spit. There was a murmur of disgust, I felt the crowd turn to my side.

"That," I told him, "was disgusting."

The spectators murmured their agreement.

"You think you're so tough," the boy said again, and I felt oddly weary and above such things, "but you're not. You think you can just waltz in and steal a man's girlfriend, well you are _wrong_."

"What?" I demanded, frowning at the idiot's date, "I don't even _know_ this girl."

And then, the crowd turned again, this time, the male half sided with the idiot. I suppose they could empathise with his situation.

Well, no matter, the girls in the room still supported me.

And then, the girl started to cry, "you don't remember me?" she asked.

Had I left it there, with an idiot girl who had convinced herself that Sirius Black had had a thing for her, I might have avoided what happened next. As it was, I acted without thinking.

I squinted at her, angling my head differently, and then it dawned on me, "oh, wait. You're that girl from the- god! From Hogsmeade! Yeah! Uh, Sam, Samantha…."

"Julie," she snapped, tears in her eyes, "I'm Julie,"

And then, the female side turned against me, too. I suppose they could empathise with_ her_ situation.

I turned to look at Lee, but she was still laughing at me, one hand over her mouth to try and hide her amusement, not that _that_ worked particularly well. I wanted her dead at that moment, mysterious somebody, I really truly wanted to rip her throat out with my own two hands.

Let's settle this," the idiot hissed, flicking his wand.

I frowned. I liked parties, I did, but not when they ended in a duel with a younger student. If I win, I'm a bully, if I lose, I'm pathetic. There is no way to come out of such an experience with your pride intact.

"Well, that's easy." Everybody turned around to see Lee sashay a little closer, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. A vein in my forehead began to throb a little- I couldn't think of anything I'd less like to see than Lee interfering in my business. I'd rather my _mother _sashayed over and offered up a solution. At least mother was predictable.

But no, it was pretty Lee, with her oh-so-innocent smile and her malicious eyes. This would not end well.

"Sure is," the idiot agreed, brandishing his wand. I rolled my eyes, and Lee shook her head, smiling a little as she explained herself.

"It is obvious what is needed here." She announced. The idiot nodded as though he understood, and Lee gave us all an angelic smile. "An apology!" there were some confused murmurs, my own among them. "An apology from Monsieur Black, to…" Lee frowned, and waved a hand vaguely at the idiot, "this….person here."

Suddenly the idiot's wand was lowered and he frowned, concentrating. "Hey," he said, "not a bad idea….."

Lee grinned.

And to think I had wanted to throttle her….

That was far too quick a death….she needed something slow and painful. Like pouring ants down her throat so they could eat her from the inside out. Or coating her in molten rock, so she burns away, layer by layer.

"Let's duel." I forced out through my teeth, which were gritted so hard my gums were hurting. I wasn't sure if I was talking to Lee or to the idiot.

But the crowd was clamouring for an apology, and they would not be denied. With a sigh, I turned to the boy, "I am sorry," I forced myself to say, each word a needle in my throat.

The boy sniffed, "for what?"

Oh, I thought, trick question. I sure as hell wasn't going to apologise for the fact that his little slut of a girlfriend had thrown herself on me the year before. Or the fact that I had not told her to go away when she'd kissed me. Hell, what adolescent boy would?

And then I had it.

"I am sorry," I told him, "for bumping in to you."

Oddly enough, everybody seemed happy with that, and while I saw it as a bit of an anticlimax, everybody else seemed to think it was a happy ending. The idiot couple embraced, passionately, and Slughorn finally sensed something was not quite right (where is the music? Why is nobody dancing? When did it get so quiet?), and walked over to check on us.

I thought perhaps he would just think that we were all enjoying the radiance of young love, and admiring the depth of affection which the idiot couple were currently displaying. But he never was as stupid as he seemed, and Slughorn took one look at us before his eyes fixed on Lee and I, then he shook his head like an indulgent grandfather and walked off again.

Lee ignored him completely, her eyes fixed on me with something akin to studiousness. I felt vaguely like some sort of science experiment. Seeing as I was on a roll, and seeing as my innate charm told me it would be the perfect line, I opened my mouth and said, "I am sorry. For being an idiot around you."

Lee shrugged, "I am sorry for not wanting to be….together with you."

"And I'm sorry you didn't duel that bastard! You would have eaten him alive, taught him some manners!"

James had appeared out of nowhere, and looked gravely disapproving of my averting the fight.

By his side, Lily looked exasperated, "And I am sorry that James rudely butted in to your conversation. I will make sure it doesn't happen again."

I grinned, "Thank you."

"Thank you," Lee echoed, rolling her eyes, "and now that we all have achieved, how do you say it….closure? I think I will go to bed." Lily made a little mew of protest, and Lee whipped around, treating her to her most evil smile. "If I go to bed _now_," she told her, "Yves will think I've gone off with somebody and he'll be furious all night." Lily looked so disapproving that Lee laughed outright. With a warm smile, she leant over and gave her friend an affectionate hug. "Have fun," she told her, "you too." James nodded, the picture of obedience.

And then she turned to me, "I think," she said with a smile, "that your date is in a bad mood,"

She seemed to be feeling well disposed towards me just then, and I jumped at the opportunity to finally sort out this 'date' business. "Oh, really." I said suavely. "Where _is_ she, anyway? Would you mind pointing her out?"

Hah. _Now_ my trials would be over. Now the truth would come out.

Lee grinned knowingly, and it was clear she'd seen straight through me. "I don't know who she is." She said with a wide smile. "I just knew that you'd take a date. And I knew that you'd forget all about her- you have _such_ a short attention span."

I groaned. "Oh, who the hell _is_ this poor girl?" I moaned, and James laughed.

"You came in with Maureen." He reminded me kindly, and I felt a strange sense of relief sweep over me.

"Maureen." I said to myself. Of course- she was so pretty, with her long shiny hair and her brown eyes. Of course I asked Maureen.

"Um, no." Lily's voice cut through my happiness. She looked unimpressed. "He can't have- after all, I saw Helena when I first came in and she said you were meeting her here."

Ah, yes. Helena. With the beautiful smile and the white-blonde hair.

Lee laughed happily. "Right. Well I shall leave now. You all can help Black figure out just who he asked to this thing." With a grin, she leant over and treated me to a kiss on the cheek. It probably seemed very sweet to everybody watching, but I rolled my eyes.

"Yves watching?" I drawled quietly, so nobody could hear.

"Of course." Lee answered, with a light, low laugh. Then she leant closer, till her lips were a breath away from my ear. "Oh, and Black?" she whispered. "My guess is that you asked them both. And probably Julianne, too. She's been tailing you all night."

"Crap." I said, forgetting to whisper, and Lee laughed, pulling away and turning to leave.

"Lee! Wait a moment," I wasn't sure where Remus had come from, but I felt a pang of relief when I realised that he hadn't noticed the kiss Lee had given me.

"Remus!" she cried, and her smile got even brighter and more beautiful. It had been so long since they'd last spoken. "What a surprise!"

In that moment, I wondered if perhaps, while lying, I had been telling the truth. Were Remus and Lee a feasible couple? Would they work? Looking at the genuine happiness in her eyes, I thought perhaps they might.

Remus seemed similarly emboldened by it. His shoulders straightened up, and he lifted his chin. "I was wondering if, perhaps, you'd like to dance, before you leave."

There was a second of suspense for me, during which I was forced to ask myself why I gave a damn whether or not Lee said yes- a question I refused to answer.

And then, I looked at her eyes.

She was frowning, looking slightly confused, and as we watched, she smiled slowly, although that puzzled look never left her eyes.

"I really am tired, Remus, although it is kind of you to offer. Perhaps next time?"

I felt relief seep through me as she smiled again, laughing a little before leaning over and giving him a warm hug. It was so similar to the hug she'd given Lily, and so very different to the one she'd given me. I felt positively triumphant. And then, I caught Remus' eye.

He was slumped over, just a little, but more than he had been before. "Just friends," he whispered. Because although she'd never said those words, her message had been clear. "_Just_ friends."

Yes. Her message _had_ been clear. And she had not even consciously given it. Her innocent puzzlement over Remus' request had spoken more than any words could. She just did not see him as anything more than a friend. She could not comprehend the idea of him being anything else.

Which meant that, in all likelihood, to her, he never would be.

And so Remus suffered, and I felt guilty pleasure at her confusion, a feeling that was outstripped only by the memory of her lips on my cheek.

Selfish bugger, aren't I?

Would you like yet more proof of my own self centeredness?

Have I, even in memory, mentioned Peter once in this entry? No. No, I have not. And do you know why, mysterious somebody?

It was because he was not invited. And I had not noticed.

In fact, it wasn't until I returned to my dorm, and heard him crying from behind drawn drapes, that I even registered his lack of presence at all.

And do you know what I did when I heard him crying?

I went to sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

Over the period of my summer holidays going into my seventh year at Hogwarts, only two things of actual import occurred.

First of all, the wizard community received news that in Brighton, an entire wizarding family had been decimated in a surprise massacre.

Mr and Mrs Flourisham were both fine, upstanding members of the community, with many friends. Mr Flourisham ran a local potion supplies store, while Mrs Flourisham worked as a teacher in the nearby muggle school. Their two daughters, Lucinda and Cecile, were very popular young ladies among the boys of their suburb, which apparently caused their parents some distress, but as they were such exemplary students and charming people, the general world was willing to overlook this. The couple also had a son, young Lionel, who was twelve years old, and attended Hogwarts.

Now, Lucinda and Cecile Flourisham were aged 21 and 18 years, respectively, and were in fact planning to move away from home any day now. Ironically, the aurors say that their bags were packed when they were found, and that they'd arranged to rent a small apartment in Surrey together. Had they left a day earlier, they would still be alive.

As it was, they had decided to wait for their brother to come back home before they left, and were sitting patiently at the kitchen table when their attackers entered their home.

All reports stated that the family was first humiliated, perhaps tortured, and in any case, died in agony.

When young Lionel arrived home, after catching the train back to their house alone, he discovered his entire family was waiting for him.

And they were still warm.

This tragic event, mysterious somebody, would set the tone for the rest of my summer vacation, and, in fact, my young life.

Let me stress one point; _nobody_ had any idea why this particular family had been targeted, only that wizards had done it, and those wizards had covered their tracks quite well.

No motive could be found, and so, for a long stretch of time, everyone thought it had been a random attack.

Shall I make things just slightly easier for you to puzzle out and tell you that Mr Flourisham was the muggle born son of two butchers, and that Mrs Flourisham was a muggle herself?

For you now, I suppose that makes perfect sense. Back then, it was a factor in the case, sure. Perhaps they had been murdered by pure blood fanatics? But it was nothing certain. It was more like a small piece in the puzzle.

In any case, it caused a stir. Every single wizarding family became extremely paranoid almost overnight. Children had curfews, nobody went out alone. Wards on houses were doubled, then tripled.

Blah, blah, blah.

Back then, mysterious somebody, that wasn't one of many murders. It wasn't something which made you shrug and say 'how sad'. Because back then, murder in the wizarding community was at an all time low. People were happy. The war with He Who Must Not Be Named had yet to begin, and so any murder was a sensation. The murder of a well-loved and popular family was beyond the level of a sensation, though.

I suppose, looking back at it with foresight, that it was the beginning of Voldemort's reign of terror. No doubt it was a murder committed by one of his enthusiasts. Probably they knew the family before hand, or even noticed the marriage of 'mudblood' to a muggle and stored the information for a later date.

No matter. In this context, all you need to know about it was that James' parents, with whom I was living, were, like the general public, struck with a terrible paranoia.

They, too, attempted to set a curfew on the two of us, a notion which failed dismally, James and I being almost seventeen and adventurous. But, apparently unaware that they were fighting a losing battle, the Potters demanded constant notification of our whereabouts. They though that the murders had been random, and were, like any parents, convinced that James and I would be next.

And so, our wondrous holidays, which usually consisted of late nights spent flirting with the local girls in the nearby coffee shop, morphed into days spent watching the local girls in the nearby coffee shop while talking about how amazing Lily Evans was. This was fun for James. Not so much for me. I did not find endless discussion about her eyes, her amazing figure, her brains and her general fabulousness as riveting as James did, but, as a favour to him, I participated, all the while eyeing off those local girls, and planning ways to break curfew so I could visit them again. Don't think they would have minded, either. Would have been overjoyed, more like.

Now I begin today's event-of-choice. And it begins, mysterious somebody, like this.

…..

"I'm sorry, a letter from _who_?"

Mrs Potter smiled at me. She was a lovely lady, really. Doted on James like he farted rainbows and galleons. It worried me for a while, it being so different to my normal experience with mothers, but I soon realised that it was not only normal, but pleasant, and didn't mind in the least when she included me in her adoration.

"Yes, Sirius. A letter from your mother." She wasn't stupid, which meant that she had a vague inkling of my dislike for my entire family, but she knew not to pry. I always clam up when people pry.

My mouth hung open, and a piece of toast fell out. James snorted orange juice out of his nose at the sight.

"Nice," he chuckled, "beautiful."

Mrs Potter was less appreciative, "what are you boys doing? Trying to feed the table?" We received a semi-stern glance and a rap on the back of our heads. Then she cleaned up our mess with a wave of her wand.

"Now, when you say _my_ mother…." I began, not wholly trusting what I'd heard.

Mrs Potter simply handed me the letter, and then turned to James. "Darling, I have work today, so I hope you can find something to amuse yourself."

Now, this may seem like an innocent question, but it is not. It was, in fact, a demand to know our plans for the day. James, who was drawing moustaches and glasses on the pictures of politicians in the Daily Prophet, merely nodded.

"James, darling?" Mrs Potter tried again, "what are you planning to do today?"

There was an entirely credible reason that James didn't want to tell his mother of his day's activities. I call that reason 'Lily Evans'. James was dead set against his mother knowing that there was a girl, even if she was as yet a 'friend', in his life.

Unfortunately, for all his skills, James had severe problems when it came to lying, and so, he had decided to concentrate on drawing on the photos, which was becoming increasingly difficult for him, as the little people had caught on to his game and were taking shelter behind trees, bushes and even each other, desperate to evade his quill.

Obviously realising that James was not planning to speak, Mrs Potter turned her pleading eyes on me, "Sirius? Any plans?"

"Oh, leave the boys be," Mr Potter instructed his wife, fondly yanking the newspaper away from James. "They're probably planning on going down to Diagon Alley for an ice cream, am I right?"

James nodded furiously, but I shrugged, "we didn't have any plans. Sounds as good as anything else, though."

Mrs Potter forgave us both instantly, dropping two galleons on the table for us. "Your week's allowance," she told us, "don't spend it all at once. I'm not giving you any more."

James nodded agreeably. "Fair enough."

His mother threw her hands in the air, "ah! He speaks! A miracle." James poked out his tongue and she ruffled his hair.

She always did that, and even after a year of seeing it, it always unnerved me. Physical contact was not big in the House of Black, and my own mother sure as hell never ruffled my hair. I would have been completely thrown off if she had. A strip tease dance would have been less surprising.

Anyway, James ducked out of the touch, and muttered something rude under his breath, and then Mr Potter noticed the piece of parchment still clutched in my hand.

"Oi, boy, what is it about then?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the letter and smiling.

I shrugged, "not so sure I want to know," I told him, "probably an invitation to the wedding of Bella and Lestrange, and that would mean contemplating _children _between them. Urgh!"

"I'm sure it isn't that," James said with a frown, "after all, would _she_ really invite you to her wedding?"

James had met Andromeda a week previously, and been so utterly charmed by her that he had Blacklisted (pun intended) every single member of her family. I think he actually fell in love with her for a few days, which only added more passion to his boycott of the rest of my relatives. The thought of all the hardships which Andi had had to face still made his jaw clench. He now referred to Bella solely as 'she' or 'her'.

"Probably not," I conceded, and Mr Potter rolled his eyes.

"Come on, boys. One of you open it!" he urged, "I think I'm in need of a bit of a scandal this morning. Besides, maybe it's good news, Sirius. Maybe that murderer came across your mother."

James raised an eyebrow, "what, you think that maybe she killed him?"

Mr Potter looked mildly thoughtful and adjusted his glasses, "hmnn….now _that_ is a thought. I was thinking the other way around, though."

Mrs Potter looked absolutely scandalized. Consequently, she rolled up the paper and proceeded to hit him over the head with it. "Naughty!" she insisted, "that is a _horrible_ thing to say."

"It's a horrible woman," Mr Potter countered, dodging blows from the newspaper. "Look, Sirius doesn't mind, do you, Sirius? Look, darling, he's laughing!"

I was, too. I thought the entire thing above and beyond hilarious.

"You should know better," she insisted, giving him one last whack, but she was smiling too.

Both Mr and Mrs Potter had an intense dislike for my mother, which probably dates back to when I first moved in with them. James had told them it was a holiday, but when I arrived with my life's possessions crammed into a trunk, they guessed the truth, and insisted on paying a visit to my family.

They never actually told me quite what had happened, but the experience must have been memorable, because Mrs Potter expressly forbid me from returning to the house alone on her return, and Mr Potter patted me on the head and muttered something about 'crazed fanatics' not quite under his breath.

But that was off topic. I was, in this memory, opening a letter.

"Well?" James asked.

"Do not talk with your mouth full," Mrs Potter cautioned him. It really was a caution; she had been known to transfigure whatever the perpetrator was eating into a pound of chilli when she caught them exercising their multi-tasking abilities.

I scratched my head and lowered my letter. I think I was almost in shock. Perhaps I would have been, had I not caught sight of a fresh croissaint on the table, and reflexively grabbed it.

"Sirius?" Mr Potter prompted, "we're waiting."

"What?" I asked, mouth full, then catching Mrs Potter's eye, I quickly swallowed, "Oh, the letter. Uh, it's about my uncle, Alphard."

I took another bite of croissaint, eagerly replacing the one I had swallowed so quickly.

"What about him, Sirius?"

I wiped some stray crumbs off of my lips, "oh, he died."

(This, in case you have not already realised, is the second thing of importance which occurred during my holidays)

There was a moment of pure silence, then Mrs Potter took up the newspaper again, walloping her husband with it, "see!" she roared, "do you feel guilty now?" Then abruptly, she paused and turned to me with a rather motherly expression on her face, "were you close, Sirius?" she asked quietly, and I shook my head.

"No, not really. Bit of a bastard, truth be told. Don't know if I want to go to his funeral."

James looked confused, "they invited you to his funeral?" he asked. "That's odd." And it was, too, seeing as I had been burned off of the family tree a year previously.

"He left me something," I told them, reading on, "in his will. I'm not welcome at the funeral, but I have to come to that."

"It's a wonder they're letting you keep it," Mr Potter mused. I agreed completely.

"Must be hoping it's hexed or something." James guessed. I conceded that this was a possibility.

"Or maybe hoping that an heirloom will restore your family pride?" Mrs Potter suggested, although it was obvious to all of us that she was still unsure as to how sympathetic she should be.

I pointed out that you couldn't restore something that had never been there, and that my parents would probably not take me back even if I begged for it and had the Black crest tattooed on my forehead.

James promptly assured me that if I ever did feel the urge to get a tattoo on my forehead, I would not be welcome back into the house. Predictably, his mother cuffed him over the back of his head by means of response.

And then, after patting my shoulder, she went off to Diagon Alley, where she worked a job at Gringotts, in administration.

Mr Potter left soon after, tipping his hat to us and reminding us to behave.

We had no intention of following his instructions.

Probably because our booklists had come the previous day (and our marks were much exclaimed over by the Potters, though perhaps 'lamented over' would be a better phrase to use) and we had arranged to meet Lily Evans and go shopping for supplies with her in Diagon Alley- though admittedly nowhere near Gringotts.

Now by this stage, James had been seventeen for two months, and he'd passed his apparition exam not long before, which meant that, rather than catching the train, we apparated into Diagon Alley.

So close to the school term, it was bustling with students trying to milk every last ounce of fun from the holidays and the weather. I noticed several people I wouldn't have minded catching up with, but James was adamant that we wait for Lily. This seemed, to me, slightly unfair to me.

I pointed out to him that I would only be a third wheel anyway ("what if she wants to snog you? She's not going to stick her tongue down your throat while I watch, you know") and he eventually agreed on a compromise; after he and Lily had caught up a bit, he would contact me using the mirrors, and I would then join them.

I thought it was a good plan, a feeling which only increased when, after two minutes away from James, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

Have I told you about Annika Wandsworth yet?

I will assume that you are frowning in confusion, and I will take this as a no.

Annika Wandsworth, mysterious somebody, was a Ravenclaw sixth year of uncommon prettiness, uncommon charm and uncommon intelligence. At age sixteen, I placed those qualities in that order of importance, I am not ashamed to say.

Now, the lovely Annika and I had come to a rather pleasant understanding; whenever we had the opportunity, we would find a nice, comfortable corner and kiss until our mouths hurt.

(Am I scarring you emotionally? I hope I am not scarring you.)

So, on that summer's day, with the letter about my uncle's death stuffed into my pocket, I did not hesitate to take Annika by the hand and search for a dark little somewhere in Diagon Alley.

Shall I describe her to you? You must pay close attention, she is of importance in this tale.

Annika was tall and leggy. She was very curvy, with a nice bottom and beautiful breasts, but then, you probably don't care about _that_. She had very green eyes, and very dark hair, almost as dark as my own, which was cut around her shoulders and in a jagged fringe across her forehead. Her father was a potion maker of some note, and her uncle taught herbology at Hogwarts. Her mother was similarly prominent in society, holding a post under the minister for magic (I do not mean _literally_ under, you dirty minded thing!). The one thing which made her thoroughly unsuitable for a Black like me to date, was that for generations her family on both sides were blood traitors.

And thank god for that, or I would probably never have talked to her, which would have been a real pity, for both of us.

We kissed for a while, and then Annika pushed me off of her. "How have your holidays been?" she asked.

I pulled a mournful face, "without you, this is no holiday. This is a prison service!"

Annika laughed and tucked a bit of hair behind my ear, "_such_ a flirt." She whispered, "I wonder if you ever say anything that you mean, or if it's all just empty compliments."

Told you she was intelligent. Only two other girls ever wondered as much, and they were Lily and Aurelie

"Guilty as charged," I whispered back, and she smiled.

"Well," her hand snaked down my back, "maybe you should come back when you have something to say."

I frowned, "sorry?"

Annika leant back and met my eyes frankly, "Sirius, I like you," she told me, "I do. But you're such a…a womaniser."

I couldn't say much to that. Truth be told, I was rather flattered to hear it. "And so?" I prompted.

"And so, I'm almost seventeen, now. I don't want to spend my senior year being your Wednesday snog. Girlfriend, or nothing."

An ultimatum. I am so bad with ultimatums. This one was no exception. Unfortunately, Annika was. An exception, that is. Beautiful, funny, smart, a disgrace to the name of wizard. Just my type. And so, I made a split second decision. One I regretted as soon as I had uttered it.

"Girlfriend,"

Annika raised an eyebrow. "What? Seriously?"

I shrugged, "yeah, why not? Saves me having to juggle my Wednesday, Thursday and Friday snogs, doesn't it?"

She laughed and kissed me lightly, "I am _so_ glad you feel that way."

And then, just as we were about to get down to the serious kissing, I heard James' voice coming from my pocket.

…..

They were at Lee's. How that helped James' bid for a relationship with Lilly I am not sure, but hey, that was where they were.

I was given an address, a place about ten minutes walk from Diagon Alley, and instructions to hurry over because we would all be going for a picnic at the Thames. I truly could not think of anything I would be less happy doing.

Nonetheless, they would not be swayed. Lee and Lily were cutting the sandwiches as we spoke, and James was full of enthusiasm. I kissed Annika goodbye, and like a true and noble friend, I hurried down to Lee's.

Being sixteen and having your own house is a nightmare to arrange. However, Lee had rich relatives, and the Lestranges were more than happy to put her up in a tiny apartment in town. Anything, she told me, to keep her from living with _them._

Actually, I was surprised at how nice the place was. It was open and airy, and painted in many different shades of blue. Absolutely every single window was open, including the one in the toilet, and Lee bustled around, cooking like a muggle.

It was all very quaint, I thought.

That was when a little bundle of fur attacked me, like a fuzzy shot of karma.

It was tiny, I swear, only up to my ankles, and it was yipping like one of those alarms muggles put on their cars. It was all white and grey, and when Lee saw it snapping at my ankles, she laughed and scooped it up into her arms. "Sssh, Cat," she crooned, smiling.

"Cat?" I asked. "That, Lee, is most definitely a _dog_. No, a wolf!"

She frowned, "only half. And his name is 'Cat'. Yves gave him to me."

This was so stupid I did not bother to comment on it Instead, I flopped down into one of her chairs and put my feet up on the table. They stayed like that for a minute before Lee demanded I take them off, "_now_!" she insisted. Being in a foul mood, I met her gaze directly, and then slowly crossed my legs. Lee smiled and then, very deliberately, dropped Cat on my legs. "Oops." She said with a smirk, as I pushed the feral thing off of my privates. Without a word, I took my legs down. Lee had won that round.

"Where were you?" James asked from the side of the apartment which doubled as a kitchen.

"With Annika Wandsworth," I announced, "my girlfriend."

This did not get much of a reaction. Lily rolled her eyes, then shot me a strange look which then darted to Lee, who muttered something sympathetic about 'poor Annika' in French. James looked momentarily confused, then shrugged and winked at me.

Bored and slightly disappointed, I picked up a small framed photo from the coffee table. "Pretty," I commented. Lee was standing with Lily and some other girl I didn't know, smiling and pouting for the camera. As I watched, Lee's hair blew into her mouth and she laughed, tucking it behind her ear.

Realising I had been staring at the photo for a while, I hurriedly dumped it back on the table and picked up the next one.

Christmas, and Lee was wearing a Santa hat. She was asleep already, leaning on the shoulder of Rodolphus Lestrange. He was looking down at her as though slightly bemused, smiling and shaking his head every now and then. _That_, I decided, did not merit any attention at all. Besides, he _was_ her cousin. I gave myself a mental punch for caring whether or not they were related.

The next photo, not framed, was of Lee and Yves. Lee had her legs wrapped around his waist, and he was swinging her around, so her hair was whipping his face.

That got put down pretty quickly, too. There was only one photo which interested me, I decided.

It was a polaroid shot of Lee, standing in front of that muggle art museum in Paris, the famous one. She was beaming at the camera, and holding her hair back off of her face with one hand, the other hand wrapped around the waist of a tall, handsome boy with very dark hair. He was very pretty, with dark blue eyes and messy hair, which fell silkily into his face and around his ears. He was wearing a dark jacket and faded jeans, and looked distinctly dreamy. One arm fell possessively around Lee's shoulders, the other held a poster, presumably from the museum behind them. They both looked about fourteen, and so comfortable with each other that I felt like I was looking at something private.

What was strange about the photo, however, was that neither Lee, nor the boy, were moving. It was a muggle photo. I turned it over and read the caption on the back.

'Raoulf and Aurelie, The Louvre' it said, in French.

Funnily enough, though I meant to ask about it, I didn't, and soon enough we were all off, grabbing onto James and praying to god that he could apparate us all to the Thames without us landing inside it or leaving any of our body parts behind.

As it turned out, we needn't have worried. We all arrived perfectly fine. The picnic basket, however, did not make it intact.

"Glad it wasn't me," Lee said calmly, still grasping the handle of the basket, though the rest was somewhere all together different.

James blushed and Lily laughed, "don't worry," she told him, "look how pretty it is here! We don't need food with a view like this."

Lee turned to look at what made Lily exclaim so brightly. When she saw, she shook her head, "La Vie en Rose," she sang under her breath, and I laughed.

Lily poked her tongue out, "come on James, they're making fun of us."

They tromped off to a nearby patch of grass, "what are they doing?" I wondered out loud.

"Admiring the view," Lee sniggered. I grinned, "I suppose they'll start dating _officially_ now" she observed.

"Glad it isn't me," I told her, "can you imagine the scandal there would be with my family if I had dated Lily _officially_? God, it would have been a nightmare." I grinned at Lee, and she smiled back, hearing the joke in my voice.

"And everybody would 'ave assumed she was pregnant," she told me with a wink.

"Ah, yes, a baby from an inappropriate match; a scandal baby," I glanced at her, "do you have those in France?"

Lee laughed. "Have those? I _am_ a scandal baby."

I was, understandably, confused. "But I thought you were a Dahlquist," I said slowly, "one of the purest families around. Everybody says you're lineage is perfect." Lee raised an eyebrow and I fumbled around for words to communicate just how un-scandalous her family seemed. "My mother would actually _smile_ if she thought we were friends." I said- the highest note of respectability I could muster. "How are you a scandal baby?"

Lee tossed her hair, and faced the Thames, frowning. "I _am_ a Dahlquist." She told me finally. "My father was Etienne Delano Dahlquist, and my mother was Noelle Dahlquist-Ludvenksco,"

The same surname, you may notice. I noticed, too, and sensed the aforementioned scandal.

"Cousins?" I asked, curiosity undeniably piqued. Lee shook her head, smiling crookedly. Interesting. "So, what? Closer relatives or further away?" I asked, "second cousins? Am I cold or hot?"

"You're cold," she answered and I rolled my eyes.

"Oh god," I muttered. "You French. Brother and Sister?"

Lee looked affronted, "_step_ brother and sister. Her mother married his father when they were both 18."

I closed my eyes and smiled, "Ludvenksco," I said slowly, "you speak Russian. I see now."

"My mother's mother was Russian, but her father was French. She lived in Russia for her early life, but holidayed in France, where her father was good friends with my father's father, and one day, when her mother came to pick her up, she met my father's father, they fell in love, and then married. My mother and her mother moved to France, where they lived with my father's father, and then, my mother and father, being young and….well, they slept together and had me."

I processed this, albeit very slowly, and I had her repeat it several times in order to get it straight. When I finally understood, I expressed my amazement that they had married at age 18.

That was when Lee dropped her bombshell. "They did not marry," she told me with a sigh. "They were too young, and their parents strongly disapproved. They felt that there was not enough Dahlquist or Ludvenksco blood to ensure the match was a success." She paused, turning to me. "You have this idea in England, right? That there should be a larger quantity of one family's blood- you know, 'keeping it in the family'?"

I snorted. "Lee, I'm a _Black_." I laughed. "It doesn't get more 'In the family' than 'in _my _family'."

She nodded, satisfied, and I felt an odd sort of kinship with her. "Well, we have it in France, too. And the Dahlquists _and_ the Ludvenkscos both wanted to keep it 'in the family'. Besides that, my father, Etienne, was intended to marry his second cousin, Ginette Dahlquist…"

"French," I snorted, and Lee shot me a look which plainly said 'as if you can talk'. Fair enough considering my earlier comment. "So what happened?" I asked, in a dismal attempt to cover my faux pas.

Lee smiled. "They ignored their parents' wishes,"

"Scandal," I grinned, pointing at her.

Ignoring my interruption, Lee continued, "and moved in together. Eet was just as well, because my mother could not look after ze two of us alone."

I froze. What? "Two?"

She nodded. "Two. Zere was me, and zen my brother- my twin. Raoulf."

Despite being sixteen and very stupid, I knew not to say a word. I merely sat there and waited for Lee to continue. There was a long pause, and then she sighed sadly and began again, calmer now, as her lack of accent displayed.

"My mother and my father were not well suited. When I was four years old, my father left to marry his cousin, and my mother raised us alone, with regular funds from my father, of course. Raoulf and I were….._not_ well behaved. And, our father, being the only son of a rich and prestigious family, did not like things which were not easy to manage and perfect. He did not visit often."

"Bastard." I contributed weakly, but Lee waved my comment away with an elegant hand. She always had undeniable style, did Lee.

"But he set us up in a summer house, where he could come and visit, should he so wish. And, when we turned 11, he sent us to Beauxbatons, even through my mother, a Durmstrang student, rallied hard for us to go to her old school. Anyway, at school, we…..did not excel. Raoulf was a dreamer. He would always fall asleep in class, or disappear completely. He would turn up, hours later, completely clean, as though he'd been gone moments, and spent the time in the library." She smiled and ran a hand through her hair, "and I was a rebel. Rude- disrespectful."

"No." I drawled sarcastically. "You? A rebel? Never." She smiled at me, and I ran a hand through my hair. "So, then what? If your parents are like my parents, they don't particularly _like_ failure."

"They split us up, into different classes, to try and make us study, but," here she shrugged, "we would always end up back together again." She frowned, "sometimes, people would say things about it, you know 'like parents like children', as though Raoulf and I were more than just siblings. I don't know why. People can be so cruel. And there are some who will always try and crush happiness when they see it." Her eyes turned black for a moment, and I wondered if I should say anything. But in a second, her mood had passed, and she was calm again. "Raoulf could not care less. Once, a teacher suggested something to him, saying that per'aps our relationship was wrong. Do you know what he said back? He said "sir, I could never see my sister that way," and then he looked into that poor professor's eyes and said, "it is _you_ I love."

She was smiling, but she was silent, mysterious somebody, and I wondered if that was the end of the story, if Raoulf was back in France right now. I told myself that he was, and that the boys had been right when they'd guessed she'd screwed a teacher and _that_ was why she'd left. I hoped that was right, but I had a feeling I was wrong, and that something horrible had happened to split the two of them up. And I knew that, if Lee was here with me, that thing had happened to Raoulf, who I was already starting to like, just from listening to her talk.

"Things were bad at school, but they were worse at home. My mother felt like a whore, living as she was on my father's charity." Her eyes grew hard again. "Sometimes, when he came to visit, he would sleep with her. She felt as though he had bought her, and maybe he had. She hated it when he came. We hated it when he came. Because, see, things were not working between Ginette and him."

Here again she paused, as though unsure whether or not to continue. Finally, she did. "They had a baby, a little boy- Ursin." She hesitated again, "but he was…..not right in the head. Too much Dahlquist blood, I suppose. He died when he was six, and it was a blessing, because he was driving his family mad with shame. After that, my father decided that per'aps Raoulf and myself were to be his only children, and because of this, he felt, we needed to represent him well."

I understood that. I understood that _very_ well.

"Around that time, Raoulf discovered a leetle gallery, down in Paris. It impressed him so much that he begged me until I agreed to visit the Louvre with him." She smiled and looked out into the distance, "he was so happy there. He just stared around at all 'ze paintings, and not one of 'zem moving, and laughed with joy. And 'zere was one. 'Starry Night', by Vincent Van Gough." She closed her eyes while I tried to imagine the painting. I had never heard of it. "He said 'zere was more magic in that painting than there was in his entire body and soul, that it _was_ his soul."

I had a feeling I could guess where this was going, and that photo on Lee's table came back to me with a jolt. He was her brother, "he liked to paint?"

"More than anything. And he was good," she turned to me and gave me a crooked smile, "he painted me. Even made me look good."

"Definitely an achievement," I agreed sombrely and she shoved my shoulder until I overbalanced. "Were your parents angry?" I asked, and she sobered immediately, like I'd doused her with cold water.

"My mother wasn't. She just loved to see Raoulf so engaged. She hung his paintings around 'ze house and always praised 'zem. She did not understand why he loved it so much, but she was glad to see him so full of joy."

"But your father." My voice was quiet, and I wasn't asking a question.

"But my father." She sighed, pushing her hair back off of her face. "My father found out, of course. We did not know how, we were so careful at home." Lee's eyes went scarily stony. "He shouted at Raoulf. Told 'im he was no good. Was stupid, was a traitor to 'ze family. Told 'im he was as crazy as Ursin. In fact, he told 'im 'zat he wished Raoulf had died instead of Ursin, because he would prefer Ursin's half brain to Raoulf's muggle brain. He spoke like 'zat for quite a while. And 'zen, he took every one of my brother's precious paintings, and burned them before his eyes."

And then Lee stopped speaking. For a long time we just sat there, staring out at the Thames, watching the sun set on ugly old London, while Lee dreamt of a chateau somewhere near Paris, where her brother's paintings hung on the wall. Finally, I could bear it no longer.

"And your brother?" I asked. "What did he do?"

Lee looked straight ahead, and I could see the Thames reflected in her eyes.

"Well, 'e killed 'imself. 'Zat night, 'e killed 'imself."

I thought she would cry, but she didn't, and I wondered whether she'd already cried too much about it. I hope, mysterious somebody, that never in your life do you feel the sadness that I could see in Lee's eyes that evening. I don't care if you live in a box or a mansion. I don't care if you have one husband, three husbands or a wife, whatever. I could not care less, as long as you never look so devastated.

"What did you do?" I asked finally, and Lee sighed.

"I went back to Beauxbatons, where I heard what 'ze pureblood families were saying about it." She looked sideways at me, "my father, you see, had finally told his story to his peers. Apparently, Raoulf was not his son at all. Raoulf was 'ze baby of his mudblood maid, who, in pity, 'e had taken in. He was glad to admit 'zis, finally, because the boy was an embarrassment to 'im. Though eet was verry sad 'zat 'e died."

"And you?" I asked. "What did you do?"

Lee shrugged again, and then smiled almost cruelly. "Well, I found out first of all 'zat it was a professor at Beauxbatons who 'ad told my father about Raoulf's paintings. And 'zen I wrote my father a letter."

"An angry letter?" I asked, cautiously.

Lee frowned. "Where is your subtlety?" she asked with a mocking smile, "of course not! I wrote 'im a letter saying 'zat I believed Raoulf was not my brother, but 'zat people at school had begun to say 'zat I was also 'ze daughter of 'ze maid. Of course, 'zat would not do. My father 'ad edited out 'ze son who was a disgrace, but my grades were good, and 'e needed at least one child of 'is own. He assured me 'zat he would spread 'ze word 'zat I was 'is daughter, and 'zat everybody would know it."

And then it clicked. I saw, in an instant, exactly what had been going through Lee's devious little mind. And I saw, in that brilliant plan for revenge, exactly why she had been sorted into Slytherin.

"Soon," she told me, "'ze whole world knew 'ow proud 'e was of me. 'Ow I was 'is daughter, 'is princess, 'is hopes and dreams. And 'is heir. So, as soon as everybody knew 'zat 'is legacy was in my 'ands, 'zat I was his daughter through and through, more Dahlquist 'zan Ludvenksco, truth be told, I destroyed 'ze office of 'ze professor who 'ad told on my brother, and I ran away."

"To Belguim." I finished, understanding at last.

Lee frowned, "Belgium? I was in Prague."

I let that go. "What do you mean 'destroyed the office?"

Her grin was almost manic. "Have you ever heard." She began sweetly, "of fiendfyre?"

I didn't wonder why she was telling me all this now, and I didn't care, truth be told. I just understood that she needed something from me, and so I gave it, as well as I could. I put my arm around her and she leant her head on my shoulder while we watched the Thames flow sluggishly along, and while James and Lily shared their first snog on a patch of grass somewhere to our left.

Later, much later, I would mention Raoulf to Lily, and be met with a blank stare.

"Who?" she would ask me, and I would realise that, no matter how much Lee and I fought, we had a connection which she had with nobody else in the world

That is a small memory for you, mysterious somebody. A small memory with a memory of a memory inside it. work that out, if you can. But it told me everything I needed to know, everything that had never been explained, about Aurelie Dahlquist. Firstly, why she refused to return to France. Secondly, why she was staying with the Lestranges (they were her cousins on her half-French mother's side), why she could be so cold towards people, why Lupin, the dreamer, the oddball who didn't quite fit in, would never be more than a friend to her. And finally, why she had not wanted to be publicly seen with me. Her father, she explained, was watching her. And she was adamant that she would do nothing to make him proud, not ever. So, while she would date a Dumont (blood rivals of the Dahlquists) she would not ever date a Black, who were so acceptable in pureblood society. And that right there, for some reason, made me feel slightly warm and fuzzy inside. Because, mysterious somebody, it told me something I should never have forgotten; Lee was in hiding- hiding from her lineage. Lee Dahlquist was just like me.


	15. Chapter 15

Good morning, mysterious somebody. I am sorry to be writing so early, but I have just had an encounter with an old friend which I feel merits recording.

I was rummaging around in the downstairs cupboard, searching for something (anything!) for Buckbeak to eat. He seems to be pining for the outside world and I was desperate to ease his suffering, so well did I understand it.

In any case, there I was, with a loaf of bread in one hand and a raw steak in the other, when I heard a familiar bark;

"And _what_ do you think you are doing, Mr Black?"

I swiveled around, caught red-handed. I was about to think up a smarmy reply when I remembered that I was no longer in school, and that MacGonnagal was no doubt making a joke.

"Minerva," I smiled tightly, "I'm on a quest." She raised an eyebrow as I waved the raw steak around vaguely. "Heroically fetching Buckbeak a midnight snack. He's in a rather foul mood this morning."

Minerva (please forgive me for referring to her so familiarly, but after years of comradeship in the order calling her 'professor' just didn't work any more) raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" she began knowingly, "_Buckbeak_ is in a foul mood?"

I am currently 37 years old, and as such, was reasonably irked to be spoken to like I was 15 again. Minerva's teacher tone never quite goes away, even when there are no pupils in sight.

"I know where you're going with this," I told her sternly. "But in fact, Buckbeak is _not_ symbolic of my state of mind."

"Really?" She asked. You know that tone- that teacher tone they use when asking you a question that they either know the answer to, or expect you to get wrong. It's sort of smugly sarcastic.

That tone. It was that one.

I fumed silently. "_Really_. I _was_ in a relatively good mood not two minutes ago. Buckbeak is the one upstairs, shredding my mother's sheets into ribbons."

I waited for a tart reply, but didn't get one. Instead, Minerva sighed and stepped forwards into the light, looking as tired as I had ever seen her. "Alright," she demanded, "spit it out. What's wrong?"

I frowned, "excuse me?" Her face remained stony, and I sighed. "Did you not hear me? _Buckbeak_. Sheets. Ribbons._ I_ haven't torn anything up, I _swear_."

She appeared unimpressed by my wit. I suppose that after over 20 years, she was a little desensitized to it. "Listen here, Black." She snapped, _very_ businesslike and aloof. "I taught you for _seven_ years, and I've fought by your side for what feels like forever; you think I don't know when something is wrong with you by now?" I felt sort of sheepish- like a child caught out after curfew. With difficulty, I resisted the urge to shuffle my feet and blush.

Not.

Minerva saw my impatience and frowned again. "I would recognise the expression on your face anywhere; I saw it often enough when I placed you and James in separate detentions." I blinked in surprise, and she sighed tiredly. "You are angry with me, and, from what I have gathered you are also angry at Remus, Severus and Albus. All I am asking, is _why_?"

I could have ignored her. I could have left it there, but it was never in me to back down from a fight, especially one that I had been waiting for for so long.

"Why?" I repeated, tasting the word (allow me to wax lyrical a little). "_Why_. Can you not guess?"

Minerva frowned sternly. _She_ never had any patience with my lyrical tendencies. "Sirius Black," she snapped, "you will make your point or you will march right back up to your room this _instant_ and I will….."

"Put me in detention?" I suggested with a grin. And then my grin faded. "You're a few years too late for that, and I personally think that I have served enough time to account for a lifetime's worth of trouble, don't you?"

"Sirius," Minerva began, and she sounded like she meant business (I'm sure you know what tone she was using- if you're at all like me, you'd be very familiar with it by now.)

"Why would I be angry," I murmured to myself. "Let me see. Two years." She looked lost, but my dramatic streak was running strong and I was going to milk the situation for all it was worth. "Two l_ong_ years I have been out of Azkaban and known to be innocent, isn't that right? Two years, 24 months. 104 weeks, 730 days. Shall I count the hours? The minutes? I could, you know."

"Where is this going?" Minerva snapped. She sounded confused, which, considering my speech so far, was reasonable, but the look on her face told me that she'd already come to a conclusion about my little 'problem'. She blew some air out between her teeth and pressed two fingers to her temples. "Listen, Sirius," she began, as though speaking to a child. "We all know you want to fight, we all know you want to leave this house." I started to protest, but she cut me off. "But you can't. Just for the moment, I want you to understand, that no matter how much we _wish _you could be outside, at least so that you would stop this sorry, idiotic moping, you can't be. Because you are no use whatsoever dead, even considering how irritating you can be alive." She was really on a roll. "You cannot fight, and that is no fault of mine, Albus' or Remus'. It is time you _pretended_ to be an adult, and-"

Learned to master my temper? Perhaps. An appropriate statement considering my answering outburst of pent up frustration. I am slightly embarrassed about this, mysterious somebody, but perhaps you will forgive me if I tell it to you honestly.

"You think that this is because I can't _fight_?" I demanded, "you think I am angry at you because you won't let me leave the house? Because I can't see anyone save those you handpick?" My laugh was bitter and hoarse. "Oh, Minerva. You're always so _sure_ of yourself, of your decisions. But can you not think of any other reason? A small one, I suppose, but it means something to me!"

Minerva looked shocked. Even after I'd left Hogwarts, I had never been stupid enough to shout at her, and here I was, confronting her while holding the ingredients for tomorrow night's tea. She looked at me for a moment, and then her mouth hardened, "Malfoy," she said finally.

"Yeah, that's right. Malfoy." I felt suddenly tired, and sat down without attempting to be graceful. "Malfoy."

She always was a sharp one- perhaps the only teacher who could see through our pranks, who could understand the Marauders so perfectly. Minerva sat next to me. "And when did you find out?" she asked, sounding rather prim.

I ran a hand through my hair (I need to cut it) and considered not telling her. But it would make no difference.

"Harry," I told her. "I found out through Harry." And then the corners of my mouth dragged down in a fierce scowl. "One of the only people in the world with whom I am allowed to speak."

"Stop being petulant," she ordered snappishly, "and say what you have been waiting to,"

I said it. "You sent my daughter, my _only_ daughter, the only family I have left in this godforsaken world, the one reminder of a life which died so long ago, and a life which should have been, to be raised by a family I _hate_." She could have denied it, but she didn't. She just waited there, patiently. Which was good, because I was nowhere near finished. "And now? Now those _purebloods_ probably have You know Who and his entire following just hanging around the house! Swapping stories and.. and making pudding or something!"

"Estelle is only _supported_ by Malfoy." Minerva was quick to inform me. "She lives in an entirely different building, and spends her holidays, for the most part, at Hogwarts. She wasn't even in the country until last year."

"So you can assure me that she has _never_ come in contact with deatheaters?" I snapped. "You are _certain_ that she hasn't been raised to their ethos?"

"Do you trust Narcissa so little?" Minerva demanded. "She has made some wrong choices, but Albus believes, and I trust him, that she is ultimately a good woman. Certainly she loves her son and has done no wrong by him."

"No _wrong_?" I laughed, "how can you say that knowing what a little _shit_ that boy is? Spoilt and cruel, _and_ weak. And a firm believer in pureblood supremacy."

"In which case Estelle has no need to fear him; coming from pureblood families on both sides of her lineage. In any case, there's little merit in arguing that Estelle would be raised to be like young Malfoy. There's not a weak or spoilt bone in her body." Minerva returned sharply. "Though coming from the stock she does, you'd imagine she is _very_ capable of being cruel." This reprimand was aimed directly at me. But Minerva's eyes had softened, and she sighed tiredly. "Narcissa would _never_ allow any child she saw as her own to be treated badly, especially not _your_ child. Especially not..."

"God, don't say it." I snapped, standing so quickly I knocked my chair to the ground. "It's crap. As though she ever held any love for either of us."

Minerva looked almost pitying. "Of _course_ she did. Do you think we foisted the child onto her? She r_equested_ to be named guardian. Told Albus that despite your mistakes and your terrible actions," here even Minerva looked a little skeptical, probably thinking of Narcissa's own husband, "she could never turn her back on a child of yours."

"Andi would have taken her in," I hissed, "she could have had Dora for a sister and Ted for a father. She's just as close a relative as Narcissa."

"The Ministry supported Lucius. Fully," she admitted. "There was never any chance for Andromeda, and to tell you the truth, Sirius, she didn't put up a fight." That hurt. That hurt more than I'd expected it to. "But even so, had Albus thought it an unfit home for Estelle, he would never have allowed her to live there. Do you honestly believe he would neglect the girl?"

"After what he thought I'd done?" I snapped, hearing the despair in my voice and hating it. "He loved James and Lily, and he _hated_ me for years after, don't deny it."

"I wouldn't, I hated you too." Was Minerva's prim answer. "But what kind of man would take such hate out on a _child_! Not Albus. Had he thought your cousin unfit, he would not have supported the decision." Then she frowned, as though something new had dawned on her. "But that isn't what you're worried about, is it? Not Narcissa." Her eyes sharpened with sudden realization. "No, not Narcissa. _Bellatrix_."

I swallowed quickly, feeling my fear bubble up inside of me. I hated to appear afraid of anything- I always had. In my first year, I'd spent the night out in the Forbidden Forest on a dare, just because I couldn't stand the idea that somebody would think me a coward. I'd laughed when the teachers had found me, and bit my own lip to stop it quivering because it had been _terrifying_, but I never let on.

Yes, I hated showing fear. But I couldn't hide it this time. "She's out, Minerva, out in public." I said, my voice hollow with despair. "No doubt Malfoy has her holed up with him." My lip curled. "Their type stick together. Was Estelle at school last holidays?" Her expression was answer enough. "Well, then. I suppose she's already met 'Aunty Bella'."

Minerva's frown lessened, "Bellatrix….."

"Bellatrix would not hesitate to take out her frustration with me on my child. And I don't mean beating her. No, Bella is smarter than that." I was pacing back and forth, and as that thought crossed my mind, a manic laugh slipped from my lips. "She would not hesitate to raise my daughter to be a death eater, just to punish me, and you _know_ that."

"Estelle is no such thing!" Minerva exclaimed, and it struck me as ironic that she was defending my child while I cast aspersions on her morals. "Believe me, Sirius, we have been carefully observing her. After we heard that she was your daughter, well, I will admit it, we were unsure of her." She frowned, probably noticing the look of disgust on my face. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Black," she snapped, "remember, we thought of you as a monster, and we knew your cousin was one; I know that I, for one, was expecting a little Bellatrix to walk through those doors. But when I had her for my first class- oh." Minerva looked a little sad. "It wasn't another Bellatrix; it was her mother sitting at that desk, as though all those years, all that pain, had never happened." Her smile was wistful, and I wondered whether Macgonnagal felt the pain of this war perhaps _more_ than the rest of us. She had watched us grow- seen us as children, and perhaps would always think of us that way. Little snotty-nosed 11year olds, clapping in delight as they complete their first spell, frowning as they struggle through a textbook.

She'd seen us all when we were young, perhaps even played a part in raising us. And then she'd watched us suffer and die, one by one, often under missions she'd given us.

"I would walk down the Great Hall." She said sadly, "and see Harry and Ronald sitting with the Gryffindors, laughing and chatting, and then Estelle, so haughty, yet charming, with her friends." I wondered if she was crying. "Every time, _every_ single time, I forget, for a moment, that it isn't James, it isn't Arthur- that Estelle _isn't_ her mother. Because they look _so_ like their parents, Sirius. These children- they're like little echoes." He voice was so sad, so small. "Little ghosts of the past." And then she smiled. "Sometimes I look for _you_, you know. There's James, and there's Arthur. Frank Longbottom, too. So without thinking, I wonder 'where's Black- what's he up to now?'." She sighed, and the mirth was gone. "It is a truly strange experience, when you remember that they're gone. All of them- just gone."

I sympathised, I really did. I could only imagine what it would have been like for her to walk into the classroom and see a class which had graduated twenty years earlier sitting before her, ready to learn. But, while I sympathised, how could I not, I still felt compelled to point out, "at least you've _seen_ her. I never had that chance,"

"Oh, well, my heart bleeds with sympathy," she rolled her eyes, and the wistful, sad woman of just moments ago disappeared. "But, no matter whether you have met her or not, she is no death eater."

I wasn't going to be put off that easily. "No death eater?" I asked, "and yet, what house is she in?"

Minerva looked a little put off, "well, Slytherin." And once again, she was in teacher mode, and I was 16 years old and being chastised for making derogatory remarks about the other houses. "Is there a problem? That was the house of your brother! Of Severus!"

"My point exactly," I muttered, apparently not quietly enough, because Minerva's eyes narrowed, and she continued.

"The house of Miss Dahlquist, if you recall."

What could I say to that. "_She_ didn't exactly turn out to be a particularly happy human being, either." I hissed.

Minerva frowned, "and, Sirius, whose fault is _that_?"

I decided not to deign _that_ with a reply. Suddenly whatever anger I felt was drained from me, leaving me feeling empty and cold, with the echo of a tinkling laugh in my head.

She's probably right, you know, was what I though to myself as I met Minerva's eyes. She looked, I noticed, rather regretful. Her face had gone from red to white, and her nostrils had frozen mid flare, and one hand had come up to cover her mouth.

"Sirius, I-" she began, rather quietly, sounding shocked, probably at her own lack of manners and tact. What she had said was comparable with rubbing salt into a wound which had yet to heal, and then letting it heal around the salt.

But more than her impulsive cruelty, I could not bear her pity. So I left.

…

I received another letter the very day after my first had arrived, and this time from just as unexpected a source.

_Ridiculously enough, I have been asked to communicate to you that it is of utmost importance that you actually come to this funeral._

_Usually I would find this sort of thing irritating, if mildly amusing. You English have such pathetic little excuses for intrigues- you're like children passing notes in class._

_But this time, I find you irksome. Why must _I_ be dragged into these sad little dramas simply because _you_ are stubborn?_

_Next time try to arrange it so that you don't need encouragement, because I would rather not have to speak to my family every time you ignore your own._

_Go to the funeral._

_Kisses!_

_PS: sorry to hear about your uncle._

Other than the disparaging tone, what gave it was away was that the letter was written entirely in French.

James, who had opened it, stared at it in confusion for a moment, then grinned and handed it over to me.

"Looks like she's going to come crawling back to you,"

"Lee never crawls," I insisted, and James chortled over the fact that I had known whom he was talking about before even seeing the letter.

Nonetheless, his assessment left me rather excited about the prospect of reading declarations of love (hopefully exciting ones). I should probably have remembered that James' command of French was rather dubiously confined to asking what time the bus came and expressing his dismay over having a third nipple (this last you must not pay too much attention to, you see, I assured him it actually meant 'you have amazing eyes, would you like to go out to dinner with me?' One of my better jokes.)

I was sorely disappointed in regards to content, but I mentally kicked myself for being such a dick as Annika's face came into mind.

Quickly, I translated the letter for James, who looked about as disappointed as I felt. "Ah. That all?"

"What else would it be?" I snapped defensively.

James raised an eyebrow. "What else would it be? Sirius, my friend, the second most beautiful girl at Hogwarts, whom you have _never_ engaged in correspondence with, just wrote you a letter reminding you to go to your dead uncle's funeral. Who would have expected that?"

I wanted to point out that Lee was at least on par with Lily in the looks department, and also that Bella was probably, in all fairness, prettier than both of them. But seeing as James was biased, I gave it up as a lost cause before it even began.

Instead, I reigned myself in. "Well, it would just be weird if she asked me to go my live uncle's funeral." I pointed out, and James grinned. I sighed, rapping my knuckles on the table and wondering what the protocol for this would be. My eyes fell again on James, who was still watching me. "What?"

He looked ridiculously excited. "Can I help write the reply, then?"

I shrugged. "If it makes you happy." I said easily. I'll dictate, you be the scribe."

James fetched some parchment, apparently even more bored than I'd given him credit for. Or _perhaps_, more interested in Lee than I'd given him credit for. The thought made me clench my fists, even as I dismissed it as ridiculous.

James watched me, smiling wryly. "Your face has gone an odd colour." He told me happily. I glared at him, and he laughed. "I'm ready and waiting, Sirius. Dictate like the wind!"

"_Thank you so much for the warning, Dahlquist._" I said. "Start with that, secretary." James made a face, and I smiled. "What?"

He grimaced. "In stories, the secretary is always in bed with the boss."

Now it was my turn to grimace. "Disgusting." And then. "James, what sort of books are you _reading_?"

He screwed up a piece of paper and threw it at me. "Shut up and dictate." He ordered, rather contradictorily.

I let it go and continued with the letter. Some time later, James sighed and cracked his knuckles loudly. "Got anything else to say?" he asked. Apparently, I wasn't dictating fast enough. I'd been lost in thought for a few minutes.

I considered. "I don't know, read back what I have so far."

James cleared his throat. "Ah," he began.

Sensing something amiss, I tore the letter from his hands.

"_Thank you so much for the warning, Dahlquist._

_Last night I dreamt about us making love in every room at Hogwarts._

_Make my dream a reality._

_Yours, Sirius._

_PS: James' prick is much bigger than mine."_

James was laughing, but I didn't think it was particularly funny.

"What is this?" I asked while he cackled, "is this you being _helpful_? Is this you being _useful_?"

He didn't show any signs of stopping his idiotic laughing, so I rolled up the letter and whacked him over the head with it.

"What is going on in here?" Mrs Potter asked, smiling at us, "having fun, boys?"

"We're writing a letter, Mrs Potter," I told her with a pained smile. She looked rather at a loss, obviously searching for something which would explain why such a boring task would inspire so much joviality.

Eventually, she gave up and left. No sooner than she had disappeared around the corner, than James and I had jumped back into work, this time with myself wielding the quill.

"Right, so we'll say _Thank you so much for the warning, Dahlquist. I had no idea you were keeping such a close watch on my affairs,_"

"That's good," James agreed. "Yeah, that's good."

"And then, '_I am, however, compelled to ask why you felt the need to inform me of things I already knew about. I suppose you'll be ready to remind me of my birthday, too, when it comes around._" Amazed with my own genius, I leant back in my chair and smiled.

"Ok, nice," James grinned. "Should we go on, or finish it off?"

"What's this 'we'?" I asked, "you haven't helped at all! In fact, you're fired as my secretary."

"I suggested things," James insisted, affronted. "You just didn't like any of them. And you _certainly_ don't have to fire me!"

"What, you want me to stick a little '_James' prick is bigger than mine' _in there somewhere?"

"Would be nice." He said, almost pleadingly.

So, out of deference to my friend, and because, as James pointed out, I hadn't gotten him a birthday present yet, I wrote it, very small, at the end, and then sent it off again.

That day, the day before the reading of my uncle's will, I had arranged to meet up with Annika for a coffee in Diagon Alley, which, at the time seemed like a brilliant idea.

Strangely enough, mysterious somebody, I was looking forward to seeing her, despite my own belief that I would not actually show up. She had apparently entertained similar feelings, because, when she caught sight of me, she looked positively surprised, which was just a little bit hurtful for me.

"Sirius!" she called and stood up to kiss me. I wasn't ready for that, usually having to take her behind a corner before we'd snog. Nearby, a couple of old witches oohhed and aaahhed over our display. That was an odd experience. Usually, if I was 'getting intimate' with a girl, the old ladies would mutter and glare. Perhaps public displays of affection _were_ acceptable, so long as they were shorter than ten minutes and only involved mouths. We sat down, drank some coffee and had several conversations which were fascinating and full of witticisms that I can't quite remember and can't be bothered making up. When she finally had to leave, Annika kissed me rather passioantely, wiggled her fingers, and was gone. I was left standing alone in the street.

"God," I said to nobody, "I actually enjoyed that."

"That is the idea, when it comes to dates."

I spun around. Typically, Lee didn't look as though she'd been stalking me, as anyone else would have, popping out from nowhere like that. She looked, coincidentally, like a girl who had been buying school supplies and happened across an old friend.

I say 'coincidentally' because, coincidentally, that was what she had been doing.

Lee would never lower herself to such an extent that she would follow a boy around, and she never really seemed to think of me as anything near worth the trouble.

"Hey, Lee," I said, shoving my hands in my pockets, and despite having thought I couldn't get any happier, my heart did a cheerful little flip at the sight of her. "What are you up to?"

Lee pushed her hair off her face. "School is starting soon," she reminded me, "and I have no supplies."

It occurred to me then that despite being very good friends with Lee, I really knew nothing about her. "What subjects are you taking?" I asked conversationally.

She bit her lip and gave me a cheeky smile. "Have a guess." She said teasingly.

"Charms?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"Transfiguration?"

"Yes."

"Potions?"

"Yes."

"Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

"No,"

"No?"

"No," Lee repeated, shaking her head.

That seemed wrong to me. There was a reason she should be taking Defence- it was something somebody had said.. it was on the tip of my tongue…. And then I remembered; Lily applauding, Lee giving a mock curtsy and Remus sitting in the corner, a secret, proud smile lighting up his face. "But you got an O." I told her, and she shot me a look. I figured it out then; defence against the dark arts would have been a very impressive subject to take, especially in her father's eyes. "What are you doing instead?" I asked, and she grinned.

"Muggle Studies," she announced proudly.

"What?"

"You heard." She told me, and I had, but I didn't believe it.

"Lee," I told her. "That is the dumbest subject in the curriculum. Hell, I'm doing muggle studies."

Lee grinned. "Well, me too!"

"Lee," I pulled her aside, frowning as sternly as I was able, "don't you think maybe you're taking this a little too far?"

"Sorry?" she asked, confused.

"Trying to piss your father off! I mean, you're jeopardizing your future now."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and I realised I had done a no-no.

"AH!" I covered her mouth with my hand quickly, being much practised at stopping her before she got started. "Ah, no! No cutting comments. Don't you _dare_ ruin my happy mood with your evil, evil sarcasm."

Lee looked away, and I had an inkling that I was not quite forgiven, but she seemed to be well practised at glossing over awkwardness.

"You _adore_ my sarcasm." She said dismissively. "And you absolutely love fighting with me."

I could tell she was still a little angry, but I couldn't help but grin. "You love it, too. You're just disappointed that I stopped this fight before it started."

"I am." She said with a shameless shrug. "It is better than chocolate."

"Better than sex." I suggested, and she scoffed.

"As if you'd have any idea." She said mockingly, and I clutched dramatically at my heart.

"You wound me, Lee." I said sadly, and she tossed back her head and laughed, drawing admiring stares from all the boys we passed.

"Oh, don't take to too personally." She said seriously. "Not everybody can have a prick as big as James'."

So she _had_ read the letter. Wonderful.

We walked on in companionable silence for a little while, before Lee said pleasantly. "So, the 'will reading' tomorrow should be fun."

It was a struggle not to snort. "Loads," I said, "I'll be in a room filled to the brim with people whom I absolutely loathe, and who absolutely loathe me right back."

Lee frowned. "But I'm not invited?" She demanded, mock offended.

"Ha ha," I rolled my eyes "funny." And then, an idea of pure brilliance hit me. "Lee?" I asked, "what are you doing tomorrow?"

….

"And to my nephew, Mr Sirius Black," everybody craned their heads to hear more, "I leave the entire contents of my vault at Gringotts bank, no. 284, in sum, 719,462 gallons."

There was a murmur around the table as my hostile relatives processed this information. My mother, in particular, looked physically ill. Beside me, Lee's reaction was a low whistle of appreciation, which made me smile.

I had been so glad that I had thought of taking her along. She was, naturally, on her best behaviour, and, I should add, sacrificing her rebelliousness by wearing an elegant (albeit fitted) navy blue dress; not quite mourning, but very respectful. I had laughed when I noticed she was wearing muggle clothes, but even had she come naked, she was still less likely to cause a stir than Annika, and what I was after was support without a scandal. Being back in my childhood home was difficult enough without being responsible for protecting some 'mudbloood', 'blood traitor' or 'muggle whore' from my family's trademark scorn. Lee, luckily, being a Dahlquist, was grudgingly accepted.

And also, being a Dahlquist, was more than equipped to handle any scorn they saw fit to throw at her.

"A mistake!" an aunt called, "this is a mistake!"

The lawyer frowned as others murmured similar things, looking very offended that they would believe he had made such an error. He had to raise his voice quite loud to be heard over the top of them all to finish the reading. "AND," he continued, "THIS LETTER, WHICH HE IS TO RECEIVE ON THE DAY MY INHERITANCE IS BEQUEATHED TO HIM"

"Letter?" A third cousin asked, "what does it say?"

The lawyer shook his head sternly, perhaps still feeling bitter about the 'mistake' remark. "It is for Mr Sirius Black alone."

"It doesn't say that." My aunt pointed out with keenness characteristic of the Blacks. "It can be read aloud, he never said it was _just _for Sirius."

The lawyer conceded this was true, caving under enormous peer pressure. He unfolded the piece of paper and shot me an apologetic glance. I forgave him; I knew exactly what he was up against.

"Very well," he cleared his throat, and the suspense was thick in the air. Lee alone appeared disinterested, though she watched the lawyer languidly. "It reads; '_that a'boy, Sirius. Hope these funds help you. A word of advice, from an uncle to a nephew: get away now, and don't let these gorgons get their claws in you again. Run while you still can! Alphard_."

There was a moment of stunned silence, broken only by Lee, who, upon hearing 'run while you still can', scoffed in amusement.

Feeling the weight of twenty pairs of grey eyes on me, I felt immensely glad of Lee's presence. I could barely breathe, I was so inelegantly wracked with nerves. Beside me, Lee grasped my hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. But it still wasn't enough. I wished I had not come. My childhood surrounded me. It was my house with every trace of my presence edited neatly away. Reg's trophies and awards were on display, as well as a solemn family portrait which had once included me (how on earth had they convinced my little photographic double to leave?), but that was all. And everywhere Blacks. Cousins, Uncles, Aunts, Parents, Siblings. The whole clan present, and all their disdain pouring on to me. I was pretty strong when it came to my family, but as they stared, I felt myself begin to sweat slightly, and I knew I was flushed.

"Oh," I said finally, after Lee kicked me under the table, "how thoughtful of him." I jutted my chin forwards defiantly, and managed a carefree smile, which wavered after a second.

In some families, just then was when chaos would have broken out. Instead, there was utter silence. Oppressive silence. The silence of angry ghosts, hell-bent on revenge.

"This cannot be." Someone hissed. "Alphard would _never_ leave his entire fortune to the _traitor_."

"And a Black would never leave the family fold, either." I said sarcastically, and felt everybody dump their hate and frustration on my head.

"No true Black would." A second-cousin sneered. "No true _man_ would."

"Hardly matters- we're better off without him. It's like pruning the diseased branches off of a tree."

"He shouldn't be here," someone else observed coldly, "why was he invited?"

Here, the lawyer, who I decided (being newly rich) would receive a hefty tip, bravely interjected. "In such situations, everybody mentioned on the will is summoned, as well as the closest of kin. Mr Black, here, is both." I gave him an encouraging smile. "In my opinion, the next step should be to…."

"How kind of you to share your…. Thoughts… with us." That icy voice came from the head of the table. "But your services are no longer required. You will now leave."

I did not look up. I had been avoiding making eye contact with _him_ all morning.

The lawyer showed himself to be even more courageous than we had originally presumed. "Not until I take Mr Black's details," he stammered, "so I can arrange…"

"You have _my_ details. You do not need _his_. Now go."

"With all due respect," the lawyer tried again, "your son does not live with you, therefore I will need his address….."

"Leave!"

The word was not shouted, but it was uttered so authoritatively that the lawyer stood, tops of his ears bright red.

I was at a slight loss, until Lee saved me. With a disdainful sigh, she cast her gaze over to the lawyer. "_Si je peux_." She began coolly, as she scrawled some details onto a nearby piece of parchment. "I make a point of _never_ trusting administration." She said, sounding utterly bored. "Of course, I assume you have the elder Mr Black's details- the younger Mr Black frequents this address as well. If by some chance you've managed to _lose_ the elder Mr Black's details, "this last was said quite suggestively, "Sirius can be reached here."

There was a tense moment of silence as a hundred pairs of beady grey eyes zeroed in on Lee. She shrugged. "A backup." She said, by way of explanation. "Always wise."

She would almost have seemed genuine, if she had not then winked conspiratorially at the lawyer. He nodded gratefully, and I, too, was grateful, but all the good feelings which Lee may previously have inspired in my numerous relatives had dissolved into this air.

It was an awkward moment, during which Lee and I were shot looks of such hate and disdain that I wished I could sink into the floor, rather than dealing with my family. But no such option was presented. Sometimes, when I go downstairs and into the dining room for dinner or lunch, I can still taste that hate in the air; that utter loathing and disdain which was directed at us. It is one of the reasons I often eat in my room, the other being that Molly, no matter what she wishes, is_ not_ my mother and has no right to scold me. Not that she'll listen if you tell her that.

The lawyer, in the end, left quietly and without pomp. I missed him immediately.

Especially when the Blacks began to exercise their most common gift; deviousness and skillful plotting.

"This is easily remedied." Bellatrix's mother pointed out, tapping her long fingernails on the table. "The boy is underage, which means the funds go to you first, you see?"

There was a murmur of agreement, broken by one voice.

"Only, he isn't underage any more." Bella had said nothing else the entire time I had been present. In fact, I had not noticed she was there, standing in the corner, hair hanging around her face and sleeves pulled down over her wrists. Sensing everybody's attention on her, she looked up, shaking the long silky skeins of hair out of her eyes. "It was his birthday. Last week."

Lee looked at me with surprise. "Happy birthday," she stage whispered, and I, appreciating her talent for diffusing tension, grinned. "Thanks."

There was another silence, during which I glanced quickly around the room; something I had not had the courage to do before. The family really _had_ come out in full force. It was overwhelming how many Black's were standing around the dining room, glaring at me. I shall not bore you with names, but will instead tell you of those you know already.

Bella, I have mentioned, was standing in the corner, looking like she was trying to shrink into the wall. Beside her, Lestrange glared at me, and at Lee, though perhaps more at Lee. Cissy sat beside her mother at the table, looking delicate and frail. She did not meet my eyes once, like Bella, looking away the instant she felt my attention. Regulus was being unobtrusive, seated as he was at the right hand side of the head of the table, dressed in greys which made him look pasty. He didn't look my way either, choosing instead to stare broodingly at his hands, clasped on the table. My mother, I gathered from Kreacher, was ill with grief, which I did not believe. Admittedly, later on he would blame her illness on me, and while I doubt that the thought of me had sickened her, I do believe that she might have pretended to avoid seeing me.

And there was one other of note.

At the head of the table, resplendent in black, sat my father. Do you remember my mother? My father was infinitely worse. Probably because he was not passionate like her. Indeed, he felt no emotion that I could discern whatsoever. He was stone which breathed, and, other than being a figure whose approval I had been trained to crave, he played no part in my young life. He was like a divine being who merely watched over it all. I think I feared him more than any other person in the world, and with good reason.

He spoke now, and I shuddered, feeling embarrassed because of the cold fear I felt in my stomach as he spoke. "So," he began, and I stared at my hands, a mirror of Reg. "The money will go to _him_."

Wonderful. I had been demoted to a 'him'. Not even Sirius, just 'him'. The part of me, buried deep as it was, that still craved my father's approval, writhed in pain.

My father's words ended the matter, and resentfully my relatives turned their heads to other things. And, surprisingly, a part of me snapped. That was my aunt, who looked at me with such livid disgust before glancing away. My second cousin was to my left, gaze passing over me as though I didn't exist, as though we hadn't been playing hide and seek ten years previously. My uncle over there had balanced me on his knee and told me about his father, but he refused to meet my gaze.

Everybody around that table was a memory for me, and every one of them hated me. My early life, all of it, revolved around these people, and I will tell you something, mysterious somebody, because you are my daughter and deserve to know me; it hurt me so much I could barely breathe. And that scared me, because I realised that while I hated what my family stood for, individually I loved them all. So, as soon as it was acceptable to do so, I left the room, and Lee followed.

Behind her, came Lestrange.

...

From my position in the corner of the room, I watched with interest as Lestrange told Lee off. She was ignoring him for the most part, although every so often she would volunteer a comment which would only enrage him further. This wasn't a rare thing. Lee had a real talent for infuriating people, especially when they were attempting to discipline her.

It was always entertaining, though, to watch them try. I pulled out a packet of chocolate frogs and settled down to enjoy the show.

After a while, and several very vigorous hand gestures, Lee was released, and she skipped over to join me instantly, smiling widely.

"Well?" I asked.

She smiled again. "I am forbidden to see you." she informed me nonchalantly, taking a chocolate frog from my packet. It wriggled in her hands.

"Oh." I thought for a moment. "Why?"

Lee rolled her eyes. "Obviously because you drove your poor uncle insane."

I considered this. "_I_ drove him insane?" Lee nodded in confirmation. "Hell, I haven't seen him for three years."

Lee gave the matter some thought, tapping her finger against her mouth. "Perhaps the tales of your antics drove him insane?" she suggested.

"Like he would actually care." I complained. "This is horribly unjust. Why did they blame it on me?"

"Maybe they couldn't think of anyone else, and so they turned to you. _You're_ the scapegoat." She seemed oddly elated by this, and I turned to her with a raised eyebrow. She sighed. "They _kill_ the scapegoat, traditionally." She said, by way of explanation, leaning back against the doorway and munching contentedly on another chocolate frog.

Typical.

"If anyone should be blamed, it should be _him_." I announced.

"Who?"

"_Him._ Alphard." I stressed. "It's his own fault- he drove himself insane."

"Well that just can't be." Lee insisted. "After all, he's dead, so they couldn't gossip about it."

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you referring to that belief that one should never speak ill of the dead, because I promise you, my family really don't hold much stock by that one."

Lee rolled her eyes. "_No,_ I am referring to the _fact_ that gossiping about dead people is never as fun as gossiping about live ones." She sighed. "And I don't know why you care, anyway. I wish _my_ relatives would go insane like that for me."

I considered. "I guess you're right." I conceded. "After all, of all the ways for relatives to go mental, leaving you tonnes of money seems a pretty good way to do it."

The relatives had begun to cue inside, and I was not in the mood for dealing with them. "Come and see my room." I whispered in Lee's ear, and she nodded.

I took her hand, pulling her up past the mounted house elf heads on the walls ("you English. So strange.") until we came to the door which had led through to what had been my prison cell until I was 16. With a flourish, I opened it and ushered her inside.

The first sound I heard out of her was one of her wonderfully disdainful scoffs. I entered after her and watched her prod one of my lovely posters, "tasteful," she remarked with a wry smile.

"I like to think so." I told her. "I _miss_ these posters,"

"I can see why." She told me, mock serious. "They really add an air of _elegance_ to the room." As she spoke, she gestured dramatically at a picture of a muggle model sucking on a lollipop, one leg resting on a harley Davidson. "Somebody's a little hung-up on motorbikes." She murmured scathingly.

I flopped down on my old bed, and was surprised to see that everything in my room was just as I had left. Why was that, anyway? Why hadn't my parents cleaned the place out? Painted over the posters and turned it into a shrine to Regulus?

"I can understand why you miss this place." Lee was saying now, "Although I despair of your taste in colours. Red and gold, Sirius?"

I frowned, sitting up, "I was being _patriotic_."

"England's colours are Red and gold?" Lee asked, obviously skeptical.

"Gryffindor is my country," I told her, thumping a hand against my heart, and she laughed.

"I'm sure you've been told this before, Black, but your colouring would really suit Slytherin more." I waved her away, and she grinned. "I need to go to the toilet." She told me, "all this _patriotism_ is making me feel sick."

With a laugh, I pointed her in the right direction. "Watch out for the elf," I called as she left, "nobody believes me, but he really is evil."

She waved in acknowledgment and wandered off.

When I turned back, still smiling, Bella was standing behind me. "Sirius." She said simply and strode past me into the room. Wordlessly, I followed.

The shock had left me speechless. Temporarily.

"What do you want?" I snapped. "Have you found a loophole in the will, then?"

"No." She said, fingering the fringe of one of my Gryfindor banners. I noticed that she looked wearier, thinner, paler than before. As she walked around my room, surrounded by such bright colours, she looked particularly unwell. "No," she repeated, "I came to tell you that.." she paused. "That I am engaged."

I was shocked. It wasn't as though I hadn't suspected that this was coming, but I hadn't truly been prepared to hear it. "Lestrange?" I asked, and she nodded, biting her lip.

If it had been Lee, she would've scoffed at such an idiotic question, but Bella just sighed. "Yeah."

There was a long pause, and she sat on my bed, looking out of the window, her gaze flicking back to me periodically. She seemed to be waiting for a response.

"Ok." I said.

"Ok?" she sounded cautious, and I nodded.

"Yeah. Ok. I mean I don't _like_ the guy, but hey. Not my business." I shrugged and leant back against the wall, hoping Lee would come back any second and defuse the awkwardness.

"Ok." Bella gave a hollow laugh, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "Ok. That's all you have to say. _Ok_."

"Should I say something else?" I asked, totally at a loss.

"I don't know, should you?" Bella sounded almost hysterical. "I'm getting _married_- does that _bother _you at all? Do you want to stop me?"

"Stop you?" I frowned. "Why the hell would I _stop_ you?" Obviously the wrong thing to say. Bella gave a dry sob and turned away. For a moment it was very quiet.

Then she muttered something.

"Sorry?"

"I said you're not invited." She shouted over her shoulder.

"Ok, ok," I said soothingly, desperate to calm her down. "I won't come then."

She stiffened. "Is that all you have to say?" She asked, voice about as stiff as her posture. I shrugged.

"Yeah, pretty much." I sighed tiredly. "Bella, what is this even about-" she yelped in pain as I touched her arm.

"Bugger off." She hissed, yanking it away from me, and I frowned.

"What have you done to yourself?" I asked, wondering how she'd injured herself and why it hadn't been fixed.

But instead of looking sheepish, Bella went pale. "Nothing! None of your business! Get away from me!" She hissed nervously, looking around her as though someone was watching.

"Bella, I-" and then, as her sleeve fell back, I saw what was that had made her recoil in pain. "Oh god." It was that same skull, that same snake that I had seen in Reg's books, except it was moving. And it was tattooed onto my cousin's arm. "Bella," I asked shakily, "what the hell is that?"

"None of your business." She snarled, yanking the sleeve down over the sinister dark lines on her arm. It made me cold, right down to my bones. "It's not as though you're part of my life. Not like you have the right to know."

Now I was confused. "Why did you come up here, if you just wanted to get angry at me?" I asked.

Bella had already walked over to the door, but she paused on the threshold. "I'm getting married." She said again. "To Lestrange. What do you have to say?"

There was something there, some piece of a puzzle that was missing, but I didn't have it- I couldn't quite work it out. "Congratulations?" I tried, lamely.

Bella stiffened, and then walked out.

Would you believe that the next time we would see each other was when I was being dragged past her cell on my knees, and that our eyes would meet only for a second?

In that second, though, would be a lifetime's worth of hate. And then, for the first time, I would recognize it- see how much she hated me. Because wherever I went with the order during the war, I would hear from every death eater we captured that no one was allowed to kill me; that right had been reserved for Bellatrix. Bellatrix Lestrange.

But I digress, because two minutes after Bella had stormed out, Lee stormed in to find me in a state of confusion, sitting on my bed.

"I do not understand girls." I told her as she sat down beside me.

She smiled affectionately and flopped down next to me. "We _are_ fairly complex." She said, sympathetically.

I gave a barking laugh and told her the whole story. Lee's advice was simple: "Don't worry about it." She told me, but I could tell that she had understood something that I had missed, and that she wasn't going to share it. When I asked why, she told me that it was up to Bella whether I knew or not, and as a clue reminded me that Bella had been raised to believe in 'pure blood', as purely Black as possible, and to want to continue the noble house of Black. I had no idea what she was on about, but assured her that I was insanely grateful for her cryptic hint. After all, I hardly needed two female tantrums within the space of fifteen minutes.

"No, honestly, Lee," I told her when she brushed my thanks off, "I don't know what I would have done without you today." I put my arm around her, pulling her into a hug. "You were _so_ brilliant." I murmured into her hair.

She smelled lovely, like frangipani or something exotic like that, and she felt so warm and light in my arms. It was a perfect moment.

"So I've been told." She said softly, and I chuckled. I turned my head to her to say something witty in reply, and that was when she kissed me.

You, mysterious somebody, will look surprised, I think. I sure as hell was, but that didn't worry me. What worried me was that I was enjoying the kiss, even kissing back- harder.

It went on like that for a while, passionate and wonderful and so very _right_ that I felt like I was flying. It was only when Lee's hands went to my shirt that I snapped out of it.

"No," I said hoarsely, pulling back and standing up, leaving Lee lying on the bed.

Lee frowned. "No?" she asked, sounding skeptical.

"_No_." I repeated more strongly this time. "Hell, Lee, what are you playing at? I have a girlfriend."

"What am _I_ playing at?" she asked, looking across between confused and affronted. "What are _you_ playing at? You weren't so worried about your girlfriend a minute ago." She sat up, folding her legs beneath her. "What's changed?"

"I've changed." I told her firmly. It seemed like a reasonable response. At least until she started laughing.

"What, in 60seconds?" She asked, sounding almost bitter. "What are you, bipolar?"

"Lee," I tried again. "This doesn't work."

"This?" she asked liltingly, and I rolled my eyes.

"_Us_." Now she looked away, apparently disgusted. "We've tried it before, remember? I don't know why you thought..."

"Oh, really?" she snapped. "You're right. I can't think _where_ I got that idea from. It wouldn't be because since the end of year you've been flirting with me? It wouldn't be because of that talk we had on the Thames? It wouldn't be because you touch me every time I come near you, or because when you had to choose someone to support you, it was me?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "Seriously?" I asked. "You're hitting on me because I was romantic enough to take you on a date to _my uncle's will reading_? That's where this all started? _That_'s what you thought?"

Lee met my gaze stonily, and I sighed, suddenly tired. "Lee, seriously, that wasn't me confessing my love." I told her. "That was me asking the most convenient person for the job." I said, and she stiffened. "I would've asked Annika, but I needed you because you're a Dahlquist. And my family _likes_ Dahlquists." She was quiet. "Do you get it?" I ventured, and she nodded.

"Yes."

"Yes?" I was relieved.

"Yes." Lee met my eyes, and I felt a thrill of fear. "You were _using_ me. Of course, you're just like the other purebloods- it's all in the name, isn't it? 'A _Dahlquist_, well, she'll be useful to keep around'."

Oh shit. "No, Lee. That wasn't what I-"

"Of course it was." She smiled viciously at me. "I'm your 'substitute'. I'm the one you introduce to your family. I'm the one you vent _all_ of your emotional frustration on." I was feeling a little guilty now, and Lee was milking it for all it was worth. "And _apparently._" She said now. "I'm also the one you snog on your bed at your uncle's funeral." I glanced up at her to see that she was lying back down on my bed, languidly stretched out. She met my gaze angrily. "Is this going to be a regular substitute duty?" She asked. "Should I pencil a time into my day planner? Maybe I deserve a salary."

"Lee!" I groaned, ignoring how nice she looked lying on my bed. "Why are you always so difficult? I have a _girlfriend_ now. I don't want to be that guy who jumps from girl to girl every week."

She raised an eyebrow. "Not even when you start off with the wrong girl?" she asked sharply, sitting up and meeting my gaze sincerely for the first time. "Not even if you're more attracted to another one? Not even when you have something special, something lasting with the other one?"

It was so frustrating, having her lying there, looking like she _belonged_ when I knew I had a duty to Annika. It was driving me mental. I couldn't think straight- it was all too hard and it was _all her fault_. Once again, Lee was messing everything up for me. "You are so _conceited_." I told her. "Did it even occur to you that _you_ are the wrong girl! Hell, last year you didn't want to be seen with me, and now you think we're soul mates? What brought this on?"

She was furious. Her hair was crackling and her eyes were gleaming. "Maybe I _missed_ you," she hissed, "maybe I realised that I _do_ want to be with you!"

"Since when?" I demanded. "Since your cousin told you not to?" Lee would never ever look shamefaced, but I could tell from the defiance in her eyes that I'd struck gold. "No, Lee! I want better than that! Hell, I _have_ better than that! Annika likes me for me, not as some stupid aid in a quest to be rebellious."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she snapped.

"I don't want to go out with you!" I cried. "Is that not obvious? Did I not make my point clearly enough? Should I get it tattooed on my forehead for you 'I AM NOT ATTRACTED TO YOU ANYMORE, LEE." She blinked, shocked, and I felt myself get angrier. "I _have_ a girlfriend- a smart, funny, sexy girlfriend. I don't need you anymore- how do I get that through your head?"

Lee stood there, looking gorgeous and furious. There was a long, tense moment, and I considered the possibility that maybe I'd gone a little far. Like sex, I'd said our fights were. Not this one. "Don't worry." Lee snapped finally. "You got the message across just fine."

And then, for the second time that day, a beautiful girl stormed out of the house, really upset because of me.

Perhaps, I considered, I was losing my touch with the ladies.


	16. Chapter 16

Alright, so this morning, Molly actually forcibly dragged me down from my room well before I considered myself ready. The entire time, she talked about 'new developments', and about 'serious problems', and about how Harry was going to get everybody in strife if he didn't stop being such a trouble maker, and how had he managed to turn out just like James without James even being there? It was a mystery to Molly, and I didn't particularly feel the need to tell her that, in fact, James and Harry were incredibly different from one another.

It would have made no difference, and frankly, the stairs are quite long, but not nearly long enough for Molly to be able to complain _and_ leave time for my reply.

When I got downstairs, I was shocked to see Severus sitting at the table, right next to Mundungus, sipping from a cup of tea.

"Good God," I muttered, "you brought me downstairs for _this_?"

Severus looked equally happy to see me. "Oh look," he said snidely, "if it isn't the resident recluse. So you've come down from your scribblings?"

I didn't deign that with an answer.

"Mundungus," I said, nodding my head at the crook, who gave me a grin as twisted as his profession.

"Sirius." He raised his own mug in a toast to me, and I could smell the brandy from where I was sitting.

I grinned. "Oh, Earl grey with a splash of spirits. Mundungus nodded happily. "Wonderful way to take your tea. Wouldn't mind one of those myself," I said. "You mind, Molly?"

Molly looked tight lipped, and Severus slammed his mug down. "I have been sent to you, to give some news," he told me, "a message, from Minerva." I waited for the piece of paper, fully intending to rip it into tiny pieces as soon as it was handed to me. "It isn't _written_," Severus sneered, "Minerva seems to be of the opinion that any such missive would be thrown into the fire as soon as it was passed over to you."

Well, she was close.

"Or perhaps she was concerned that in your current 'wild man of the attic' state, you would be unable to recall how exactly to read. Either or. The message, happens to be, 'she looks just like her mother, but when she opens her mouth, guess who it is that speaks'." Snape delivered this in bored tones, which I didn't mind, because a feeling of warmth spread through me.

I knew exactly what Minerva was talking about, and frankly, I was grateful enough to almost forgive her.

I was almost feeling….happy.

Until Snape did what he always did to ruin my day; he opened his mouth.

"I will assume that she is talking about your little by-blow?" It wasn't a question. "Of course she is. Lovely girl, _very_ popular down in Slytherin, I can tell you. And very close to that Malfoy boy. Yes, indeed. Spends quite a bit of time with young McNair, too. Crabbe and Goyle try their hardest, but just don't manage to get into her circle of _favoured_ young men."

It was obvious what he was saying, mysterious somebody, and I just want you to know that I would _never_ judge you for behaving like that with many boys, if in fact he was being truthful. In fact, I think perhaps it is just an indication that Minerva was right, and my personality is buried down deep inside you.

"But, no. Malfoy is _definitely_ her favourite. Her _cousin,_ I suppose, they spend so much time together. She's almost like one of the family. In fact, from what I hear," Snape's eyes glinted dangerously, "she's gotten _quite_ close to all of them. In fact, not so long ago, I heard her Aunty Bella speaking _very_ well of her. Thinks she is just a lovely young girl- can't wait to see her again."

It was dead silent in the kitchen as every single person present processed Snape's well-aimed blow. Luckily, everybody consisted of two people, one of whom was drunk. Unluckily, the other person was Molly, and she had no idea about you, mysterious somebody, not until this morning.

So, while I sat in silence, staring at the stove and cursing Bella with all my heart, Snape stood up and strode from the room, whistling, finally having crushed me just as I had crushed him every day at school, for seven years. And this blow was going to last me much more than a few minutes. It would be stinging for a while.

And just as he left, Molly, my one constant companion, my one link to sanity hesitated for just a moment before she turned to me and said, very quietly, "your….by-blow?"

And when I didn't answer -couldn't answer- she just whispered one word, _her_ name, and then, without even looking at me, strode from the room.

So, in the space of half an hour I discover that my only daughter is under the influence of a woman who hates me more than life itself, and manage to offend someone who was always there for me. _Really_ offend.

I hope Molly forgives me. I hope I can explain about you. But in the meantime, it is _you_ who is important. To hear that you spend time with _Bella_, well, it breaks me inside. The quicker I finish this, the quicker you realise what you're getting yourself into, the better.

That is, if it isn't too late. Knowing my luck, it's probably too late already, isn't it?

Perhaps I am cursed. A friend of mine told me a tale, once, a French myth about a warlock who dreamt of possessing a young and beautiful witch. When she rejected him (as beautiful witches are wont to do), he was so furious that he cursed her to waste away. But this curse was of a particularly cruel making; for once it had eeked the last drop of life from the body it inhibited, it would fly on their final thoughts to the body of the person they last thought of. His rather impressive logic was as follows; as they prepare to leave the earth, each person thinks of the people they love most, that is, those they are most loathe to leave behind. Now, this was beyond brilliant, because it meant that, far from avenging himself solely on the girl who'd offended him, the warlock could vent his anger on anybody she preferred to him as well. And so it continued, being passed along from woman to man, from wife to husband to daughter to aunt to cousin to son to father and so on and so forth. It was doubly clever if you consider that this family was very pure-blood, and married each other more often than not, which definitely served to keep the curse within the family. The warlock was incredibly happy with himself. Anyway, one day, when the entire once-great clan of the beautiful witch had dwindled to a single man and his pregnant wife, a most amazing thing happened; that young man tore his thoughts away from the young and beautiful woman, kneeling tearfully by his side, and focused all his attention and hate and anger on the person, whom he did not know, who had cursed his family. And so, without knowing the warlock's name or motive, he effectively killed him with his dying breath. And, seeing as the warlock's thoughts were only ever of himself, he was doubly cursed and so died in agony enough for two people. In the meantime, the young man died without looking at his wife, who, although offended, went on to have perfectly healthy twins and the family began anew, eventually to become just as great as ever it had been.

Relevance, you ask?

There isn't too much. Only thing it could be, I suppose, is that I sure as hell recognise that wasting feeling. I can fee it now. I have lived through a war, mysterious somebody, and I have known a lot of people who died. A lot. Many friends, many old flames...anyway, nowadays I think of that story and I can't help but wonder if maybe that curse lived on, strong and thriving, and surfaced somewhere. I can't help but wonder if maybe that is the reason for the way I feel, maybe they thought of me last, and I caught the curse like you catch a cold. And, then I wonder about the way I can pinpoint this wasting away to that night, when I picked Harry up and saw that scar on his head. And then I think about the fact that the only people who died that night were people I loved more than almost anyone else.

So yes, I feel as though I have been wasting away for years. Little by little, I have become less. Lately it has been moving even faster. I find myself spiraling, Estelle, spiraling down and down, into deeper despair. Everything I ever was lies in tatters. My friends are gone, killed by my own cowardice. My family, who did so grudgingly define a piece of me, are all dead and buried. My lightness and charm were beaten out of me by war and tragedies too many to count. My looks? Well, they deserted me much sooner than anyone had expected. Azkaban has that affect on people.

_She_ used to laugh at me. She would ask me how I managed to stay so glamorous in the midst of a war. I would ask her how she managed to stay so irritating.

So, here I stand; a man with few friends, no family, a pitiful remnant of what was once considered a handsome face, no ability to charm or befriend and nothing but a huge hole filled with bitterness in their place.

But, lately, worse than that, I have begun to lose myself. People talk to me, and I find myself having to search my mind to try and guess how the person I once was, the charming black sheep, Sirius Black, would have responded. I improvise, conversations, dodging questions which I come up blank on. I don't know how I act, or how I feel. I am, in a nutshell, fading into myself.

They say that when a man experiences the dementor's kiss- and god knows I have come close enough to that over the years- his essence is drawn out, and he becomes a mere shell of himself; an empty vessel. Here, wasting away in this godforsaken house, I feel I am experiencing something similar.

My soul is expiring. It is rotting within me and turning into nothing. Sometimes, it wakes up, if only for an instant. Molly will wink at Arthur, and I will see her as a 17year old girl, flirting by the lake with her feet in the water. Kingsley will exchange a slightly mischievous glance with someone and I will see him waggling his eyebrows at a pretty girl walking down the corridor.

Remus will appear, day after a full moon, tired and exhausted, but smile gratefully and apologetically when someone passes him a mug of coffee, and I will remember mornings after our midnight romps through the school grounds, whenever he looks my way.

Severus will lurk in a corner, peering over some old scroll, and I will see him leaning over books in the darkest part of the library.

I hear Peter's name and I remember first that night when I saw Lily and James' corpses in the smouldering ruins of their house, and next remember the way he would smile at James, moon over Lily, and grovel at our feet. Then, my pathetic excuse for a soul writhes in anger and I wish for nothing more than to be able to see the light go out of his eyes.

Mention of _you_ also gets a reaction from whatever is left inside of me. When Harry says your name, or I hear you referred to, I almost feel alive again.

But, most shamefully, I feel a spark of life within me whenever I hear a certain, much loved voice call out, "hey, Sirius!" because, deep inside, when I turn around I always hope it will be James I see there, though it never ever is. Though to look at him, the differences are indeed so subtle that I sometimes forget.

I worry, mysterious somebody, that I love Harry for all the wrong reasons. Please, don't misunderstand, were this a perfect world and I a happy man with a family and a job and the ability to leave his house, I would love Harry just as much as I do now. But I wonder, because it is not a perfect world, because I am not a happy man, do I love him differently? Do I perhaps love him because of all the James that I see in him, instead of all the Harry?

And when I ask myself that, I feel another bit of my soul die inside me. Is that not depressing?

But what do you care of the little that is left of me. I know that _she_ would have wanted me to tell you about myself, but then, _she_ never knew this new, worn Sirius Black. I doubt she would have liked him.

I doubt that _you_ would like him

So instead, I will try not to give you endless diatribes about my own depression. It is, after all not relevant to the story at hand.

I will instead give you the Sirius Black who charmed the world. I will continue your relationship with the Sirius Black whom your mother actually cared about.

…..

I began the school year with much dread and anxiety. When we said goodbye to Mrs Potter (who incidentally _insisted_ on kissing both James and I before we left) and jumped to get on the Hogwarts Express, I felt panic rising like bile in my throat. The reason? One Aurelie Dahlquist. Lee wasn't the kind of person to take rejection sitting down, and I had a feeling that there would be either fireworks or a new ice age coming my way. And frankly I wasn't sure I could handle either of those things. I _liked_ Lee, a bit. We had connected those holidays and that was something I didn't want to see end so soon. And since I knew that basic law of the universe was 'where goes Evans, there goes Dahlquist', I knew just whom to avoid. I was watching James like a hawk, watching him search for Lily, and waiting to hear him call….

"Hey! There you are!" he grinned, waving her over.

Lily smiled and it looked like she would kiss him, until she pulled away at the last minute. "Hey," she said, and I decided she was still too shy to demonstrate her copious affection for him. This, I thought, was both adorable and ridiculous.

"_Very_ English," said a voice to my right, "why not kiss him, _mon_ _ami_? Would it not make more sense to kiss him?"

"Not everything has to be physical _all_ the time," Lily snapped happily, grinning.

Lee stepped forwards. I realised then that I had not moved in the entire time since I had noticed her presence. I had not even breathed. I was like a rabbit in the headlights, hoping I hadn't been noticed.

"Oh, Lily, he is a teenage boy. Of c_ourse_ everything has to be physical." Lee told her friend, who rolled her eyes, pointedly ignoring the fact that the wistful expression on James' face completely supported Lee's theory.

In the meantime, I made an effort to appear natural and collected. Our little confrontation at the will reading being what it was, I decided that here, Lee would look immature, with her silent treatment and general bitchiness.

She hugged Lily, then James, then turned to me.

I waited, not breaking her gaze or flinching, which, considering Lee's temper tantrums, was very brave of me.

And then she opened her mouth, I waited, steeling myself.

"Well, if it isn't Mr Millionaire. How are you feeling?" she grinned, and gave me a hug. Not a quick, awkward hug, and not a bitchy, controlled hug, but an all-out happy hug, like she was actually glad to see me.

When she caught sight of what must have been a mangled mix of surprise and relief on my face, she laughed. "You look shocked. Did your silken underwear ride upwards?"

James laughed. "Yeah, yeah, Lee. I think Sirius has had enough rich boy jokes to last him a while."

"Bad luck, then, that you don't seem to have exhausted your supplies." Remus had slinked in, and we all smiled around at each other, each and every one of us guilty at not telling another one of us something they need to hear.

Read over that a few times, I'm not sure it makes sense.

In any case, it was a compartment full of secrets and awkwardness, despite (or perhaps _because_ of) the affection we all felt for each other.

I broke that awkwardness, collapsing into one of the seats and falling back on that fail-proof conversation started; a complaint.

"Do you think that they will _ever_ make these seats more comfortable?" I asked hopelessly.

It was a good one. Grateful, my friends all seized the opportunity, jumping on my simple statement like it was a lifeline.

Remus told us that a first year had impaled his bottom on a spring sticking out of the seat, not a year previously.

Lily contributed the information that muggle trains were infinitely more comfortable, which got across the sub conversation topic of the benefits of being a muggle, and all their weird habits.

I left them to it, gazing out the window and watching a short, pudgy and somewhat moist looking teenager (shall I say waddle or slink? But slink has the feel of grace about it…) waddle his way over to the train, furiously ignoring his mother's exited 'goodbye's.

"PETTIGREW!" I roared, and he jumped, looking around until he caught sight of me. I grinned. "Get on the train. We've saved you a seat."

He beamed at me, and picked up his pace.

It was about then that I got a familiar prickling sensation in the back of my neck. Instinctively, I ran a hand through my hair, before drumming my fingers on the windowsill. Someone on the platform was checking me out, I could feel it.

I heard a small and exasperated sigh from the compartment as I located my admirer. She was young, not too much older than myself, I expect, with blonde hair falling slightly lankly around her shoulders. It was pulled back, so that her fringe actually had the look of being permanently yanked back from her forehead. I suppose this showed off her almost delicate features, and her long neck. Unfortunately, it also showed off her large nose and slightly too-small eyes. She met my gaze and then looked hastily away, her bottom lip stuck out slightly, like she was sulking.

She was glaring down at her hands, shooting me looks every now and then, when I felt a finger tap my shoulder.

"I saw you playing with your hair." Lee grinned, removing her hand as soon as she'd gotten my attention. "Is there something you like?" She indicated the platform with an outstretched hand, as though she had arranged them all to be there for my entertainment.

I guessed the sigh I'd heard had been hers.

"That one over there, though I wouldn't say _like_. She was just looking at me. See, there she goes again!" I thought I'd try something, then, which was a little test of how forgiven I was. "I don't like her, she looks like a horse." I told Lee, who absently muttered something which sounded a lot like an unethusiastic 'be kind'. "No, I don't like her. Here's, what I'll do, when she next's looks this way…."

I didn't finish that sentence, I just grabbed Lee's hand and stroked my thumb down it, gazing into her eyes.

I will here admit that, as I did so, I felt a little thrill of excitement, tiny and insignificant though it was, and then it was drowned out by a thrill of embarrassment as Lee laughed loudly, smoothly pulling her hand away. "_Non, merci_. I refuse to be caught up in your intrigues, far too much trouble." Then she ruffled my hair and walked away.

I was shocked. Lee loved to flirt. With everybody. Including me. _Especially_ me, my pride demanded I add. And yet, she had not wanted to play.

"What are you looking at, Sirius?" Lily asked, peering over my shoulder, "you have been staring at the same spot for ages." And I had been, and, awkwardly, the 'spot' happened to be that horsey girl. I looked away, grinning at Lily. "Seriously, I promised my mum that I'd wave from the window," Lily told me, "and you've been hogging it."

"Sorry, I was just having so much fun looking at my new girlfriend." I grinned. "She's having a sulk, right now. But still, she's beautiful, and if we get married, she'll be a Black," I looked thoughtful for a moment. "I know! We'll call her Black Beauty!" Graciously I pointed her out to Lily, who frowned, top lip thinning so much it might never have been there.

Then she elbowed me out of the way and waved out of the window, "Mum! Dad, Tunie! Over here!"

To my humiliation and shame, horse girl and her parents answered the call, the latter two waving enthusiastically while Black Beauty frowned and crossed her arms.

"Did I just compare Lily's sister to a horse?" I asked James, who looked confused, having missed the entire thing completely.

"I don't know." He frowned. "Did you?"

"I think I did,"

James frowned even more. "why?"

I tore my gaze away from where Lee was chatting happily with Remus, who looked like Christmas had come early. "Why what?"

"_Why_ would you do that?"

I sat up and took my head out of my hands. "I didn't do it on _purpose_." I told him. "I'm not suicidal." He shrugged, already unconcerned.

Lee grinned, looking away from Remus. "You people have such wonderful conversations," she enthused brightly, "I am constantly amazed by your brilliance."

"Tone down on the sarcasm, there," I told her, "I think you're over doing it.

"Hello!" Peter stood in the doorway, grinning at us all, sorry I'm late, I couldn't find the compartment."

I was about to say hello, when someone else crept in front of him, strode over to me and kissed me on the mouth.

"Hey, Annika." James said cheerfully. "How've you been?"

She pulled back, grinned at me and then deposited herself in the seat beside mine, holding my hand. "Fine, thanks, James," she smiled sweetly, crossing her ankle behind mine, "and you?"

She was remarkably good at the girlfriend thing. So natural and calm, while I felt completely lost. How much contact was too much contact? Should I hug her?

No, I decided. I would let her take the lead.

"Not too bad," he answered amiably, "Lee and I were just telling Remus about her dog, Cat. "

Annika raised an eyebrow. "You have a dog named _Cat_?" she asked.

Lee nodded with a slight grin, "yes. You have it _exactly_ right. A _dog_ named Cat."

James shook his head, "and right here is where we disagree. I think that, if it is half wolf- it is a _wolf_ named Cat."

Annika, who was confused enough already, shook her head and ignored him. "Why Cat?" she asked Lee, who shrugged.

"I couldn't call him Dog," she pointed out. Annika laughed.

"I have heard about you." She told Lee. "But I don't think we've ever really met. I'm Annika Wandsworth." She held out a hand, which Lee took without hesitation.

"Lee Dahlquist." She supplied. "Pleased to finally meet Sirius' famous girlfriend."

"Famous?"

Lee gave a tinkling laugh. "But of course! There hasn't been such a victory since George slew the dragon."

Annika beamed, and suddenly our fingers were intertwined. "Well I am pleased to meet the school rebel."

"And I'm pleased that you're all happy," I put in with a fake yawn. Truth be told, I was a little surprised by Lee's reaction to Annika; she was actually being _nice_. Not territorial at all. Neither, for that matter was Annika, which was doubly weird, seeing as all girlfriends develop this ability to get a 'threat reading' on any girl within a 10mile radius to see if she might one day usurp her position. "And, Annika, you know James and Lily, but this is Remus, who I'm not sure you've met."

Annika and Remus shook hands and exchanged necessary pleasantries while I watched, impatient.

Fully accepted into the fold, Annika beamed at us, then frowned. "Hey, where did that boy at the door go?" she asked, confused.

It came to me in a flash. "Holy crap," I muttered, "Peter. Does anyone know where Peter went?"

Of course, no one did. I felt momentary regret, guilty for having invited him in only to have him leave. There weren't enough seats now that Annika was there, and I couldn't help but feel slightly ashamed at not having prepared for that.

Nonetheless, nobody offered to go and bring him back, and the feeling soon passed.

"It's a pity, really," Lee said, "because I could easily have gone to another cabin."

James rolled his eyes, "let me guess. Dumont?"

Remus shifted in his seat, but I think I was the only one who noticed.

Lee, however, shook her head. "No. No, Yves and I….." Lily shot her a rather encouraging look, which I thought was nice. "Yves and I are….no more."

James' eyebrows soared into his hairline. "What is this? The famous on-again-off-again couple is off again?"

Annika, being a girl, understood a little more. "For good?"

Lee nodded and shrugged. "Yes. It was time, I think."

Some part of me felt joyously triumphant as she spoke; had Aureilee Dahlquist dumped her boyfriend? Maybe for me? And yet, at the same time, a smaller part of me felt apprehensive, for reasons I did not understand.

_Maybe she's outgrown you_? _After all, you and Yves are so much alike._ The little voice of that smaller part suggested in a tone I did not like. I decided to ignore it, focusing all my attention instead on Annika, who was playing footsies with me.

Not much happened for the rest of the train trip. I suppose one notable conversation could possibly be the one that occurred soon after that fat witch who looks like everybody's ideal grandmother came past with her trolly full of sweet things which were insanely overpriced. Never, _ever_ trust people who look sweet, is my advice to you.

"Choose what you want," I told Annika when she looked longingly at a pumpkin pasty. "In fact, everybody choose whatever you want. I can pay."

Everybody did in fact choose, bar Lily who said she wasn't hungry, the liar, and Remus, who did actually look as though he was going to throw up.

To my surprise, Lee also requested something when she saw how happy the sweet chubby witch was. "I want the trolly," she announced, flicking a speck of dirt off her nail.

"Pardon me?" grandma asked. "You want everything on the trolly?"

Lee shook her head. "No, you can keep the food. I want the actual trolly. How much would that be?"

James smiled and leant across to her, "Lee," he whispered, "what in the hell are you planning on doing with a trolly?"

She shrugged. "Well, it _is_ a nice trolly. Don't you think?"

Lily looked as confused as James. "Yes, Lee, but, why do you need a trolly…?"

"I don't" Lee told them, "but why should I only buy things I need? I don't need more shoes, or more clothes, but I buy them anyway, don't I?"

At a loss, the witch told Lee that she could not buy the trolly right that instant, but should she still be interested when time came to get off of the train, she could inquire then.

Lee thanked her, smiled, and waved her away.

"Do you really want the trolly?" Annika asked.

Lee considered. "No. I _did_ want to know whether she would be willing to sell it, which she is, I am certainly pleased to note."

"Will you buy it, though?" Annika wanted to know. Everybody waited for Lee's answer.

"No. I am far too poor." She told us matter-of-factly. "Could I have a bite of that, maybe?"

Mutely, Annika passed her the pasty. Lee thanked her politely and took the tiniest bite I have ever seen.

"What do you mean you have no money?" James asked. "You had tonnes, not long ago. What about that pretty little apartment near the Thames?"

"It isn't near the Thames, we apparated there," Lily pointed out.

"What about the nice clothes?" James persisted, "the gourmet food? You aren't poor!" Lee shrugged and expertly changed the subject.

This conversation is only important because, later, when we had gotten off the train and were about to get our rides into Hogwarts in those carriages with the invisible horses, Lee pulled me aside.

I wasn't sure how it happened, one second everybody was around us, and then they were gone, and Lee was right next to me.

"So. Enjoying your windfall?" she asked amiably.

"Of course." I smiled. "Did you not notice my wonderful new clothes?"

"I in fact did." She nodded, "and they are _very _nice, even if a darker blue would have looked better."

That was fair enough. My own sweater was perhaps too light to be perfectly cool. But only just.

"So," I cleared my throat, feeling sort of uncomfortable being so close to her. "What's going on?"

Was she going to kiss me again?

Was I going to resist?

Lee scuffed her foot along the floor. "This," she warned me, "may be awkward for you, but don't worry, it is not what you think."

I felt apprehension, but said nothing. A tiresome thing for me to do.

Lee took a deep breath and stopped walking. I realised that we were in a small alley between two buildings, and relatively cut off from the rest. I wondered absently if she was going to kill me.

Lee sighed, leaning back against the wall, and shifted her weight. This was relatively unimportant, only it meant that her knee was now nudging mine, and I realised what a confined space we were in. I could feel her breath on my neck.

"You have a lot of money," she told me, "but you don't know how to use it. I do. I think what you need to do is move away from the Potters."

That was sudden, and I wondered where it was going. "Why?"

"Independence. Pride. Stubbornness. Fussiness. You name it. A hundred different reasons."

Fair enough.

"Ok, but what does it matter to you?"

Lee looked up, meeting my eyes squarely. "Move in with me." I stared at her, about to object when she began talking again. "My apartment is big enough for two, easily! And a good location. I can cook, too, so you would not starve, or get fat on muggle junk food…."

"Lee," I broke in, smiling and taking her hand. "Lee, you know I can't do that." She made a face which clearly said 'oh _do_ I?'. I noticed then how pretty her eyes were. "Listen. I _am_ flattered, I really am, but no matter how you feel about me, no matter whether you miss me or not, I don't want to sleep with you, I've told you that already, at my house. Remember?"

And I was back in my element; the man who could reject at a whim, the man with six girls hanging off him, all needing to be let down easy. The man who…..

"What are you, stupid?" Lee asked, sounding a little pissed off, "I don't want to _sleep_ with you. And why, by the way, when I have obviously made it so _easy_ for you to pretend that the scene after the will reading did not ever happen, do you insist on making things so awkward?" She looked incredulous, and I was a little taken aback. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Listen, I am asking you as a _friend_, which is all I intend to be to you from now on, alright?"

"I don't quite understand." I told her honestly. "As friends? Why would you want to move in 'as friends'?"

Lee thumped her head against the wall so hard that I was worried she might have a concussion. "Because," she told me quietly, "I have no money to pay the rent. So, really, I am asking you to start renting my apartment and let _me_ move in with _you_."

One statement in that stood out for me. "You…have no money?"

"My uncle cut me off." She said plainly.

I was shocked, "Lestrange?"

"Yes. _You_ offended Bella somehow, and when Rodolphus confronted me about spending time with you, I told him I would sleep with whoever I liked, as a joke of course, and, next thing you know, I am completely cut off. No money, no food. Nothing."

This was a _lot_ to process.

While I concentrated on processing that, Lee had continued.

"So, in a way, you can't really say no, because it is _your_ fault that I am in this situation."

And, in a twisted, opportunistic, grasping way, she was right. I pressed two fingers to my head. "Do you know how much of an awkward position you will be putting me into?" I asked tiredly, "with Annika? With _Remus_?"

"Remus?" Lee asked, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

Mentioning Remus was obviously a huge mistake. I needed a quick save. "What are _you_ talking about?" I demanded lamely. "Anyway, the problem here is Annika."

Then, for the first time, Lee looked angry. "No," she whispered, "the _problem_ here is that if I do not get the rent, then I will be evicted, and I have nowhere to go in the world, except back to France, to be the prize-winning daughter of a pure-blood fanatic and his alcoholic mistress, to be engaged and married to _another_ pure-blood fanatic by the time I am twenty. Sound like fun to you? Sound like the sort of thing I would enjoy doing?"

We stayed silent for a while, during which I considered, even though I knew straight away what my answer was going to be.

"Listen, Sirius," Lee said now, calmly, "nobody except James knew that we were ….involved…. last year," I admired her delicate choice of wording. "No one would have any reason to suspect that anything was going on."

I scoffed. "No one would suspect….. have you _seen_ yourself lately? Have you seen _me_? Of course they'll suspect."

Lee rolled her eyes. "They _won't_. There'd be nothing to suggest it, and anyway, you've got a girlfriend who could stay over whenever she liked. And." She waggled her eyebrows. "I _always_ have a boyfriend. No one would have any reason to suspect that we are doing anything different from what brothers and sisters do."

What got me in the end, I think, was not the prospect of sharing an apartment with a single bathroom and bedroom with a very beautiful woman, or the idea that I would finally be independent and free, but the fact that Lee sounded plaintive when she put those last few lines forwards, and plaintive is the one way I have never heard Lee speak.

"Brothers and sisters, hmn?" I mused. "But everybody knows what _French_ brothers and sisters do."

Lee smiled at me then, and kissed me on the cheek.

"Thank you." She said happily. "I _know_ that this will work out."

I think it may have been the kiss that surprised me. It wasn't slow or soft or lingering. It wasn't sexy. It was the kind of kiss you give your, well, brother. It was the kind of kiss I had seen her give Remus a hundred times. It was not the kiss of a girl who had convinced the man she loved to move in with her.

It occurred to me then, when I thought back on the way she had acted since I'd seen her that morning, that it was very possible that back at the will reading, when I had told her that I didn't want her, Lee had done something which she had never in the whole time I had known her, done.

She had listened to me.


	17. Chapter 17

Incidentally, I don't think I ever got around to telling you what happened to Peter when I forgot about him and he wandered off in the train.

He is, apparently, as insignificant in memory as he is in life.

I could write for you the memory in which I found out what had happened to him, but I find myself somewhat unwilling to dwell on anything to do with that spineless monster.

So here it is for you: we met up with him at Hogwarts, and apologised for what had happened. He did _not_ say not to worry, or that it was no big deal. Instead, he met James' eyes squarely and told him that he'd spent the train trip in one of the Slytherin compartments. Then he met my eyes squarely and told me that my brother didn't pass on any message for me, perhaps he forgot? And then he met Remus' eyes squarely and said quite deliberately that it had been really interesting, not at all like he'd expected.

We were all very surprised at his defiance, which was something that didn't often show its face, but it wasn't to last. After a minute's shocked silence, we all began to talk again, and Peter joined in, making his usual, butt-kissing contributions.

I guess he saw from our faces that we weren't at all concerned about the Slytherins. At that point in time, we were at the top of our game and there wasn't much that _could_ scare us. Besides, without his new buddies in front of him, Peter would never _really_ confront us; he so liked to be on the winning side.

But enough about Peter.

I would here like to complain about Kreacher.

He is, at the moment, standing outside my door muttering insults under his breath. He is in the foulest of moods, because I have not yet left Reg's room. If I were tolerant, I might even give the stupid, useless piece of dung the room, but I just don't think I could handle his gratitude.

And anyway, that would necessitate moving back into my own room, which I just don't think I could handle, as yet.

You know, last night, Arthur was late in coming home. He was so late that Molly was utterly ropable. She is still angry with me as it is, but she was so terrified for Arthur that she actually ordered me downstairs and proceeded to feed me more food than I have ever eaten in my entire life. Every time I stopped eating, if only for a second, she would screech about how thin I was, and how gaunt I looked until I began stuffing my face again.

When Arthur finally arrived, a good three hours later than expected, and completely drained, Molly ran to the door, slapped him across the face, and then burst into tears.

And I couldn't help it. All I could hear was the creaking of a door opening and closing, and all I could see was myself running through the hall.

"_Where were you?"_

"_Sirius, breathe! I'm fine."_

"_I didn't ask if you were fine! I asked where you were!"_

"_I heard you- I just mentally edited the question so that you didn't sound like a bastard. Don't worry. There was a …..scuffle, no one was hurt too badly. Alecto hit Frank with a pretty strong curse, but he will be fine. Dumbledore thinks that it was worth it to get that family out of there."_

"_Frank? He's alright, he's.."_

"_Yes. He'll be fine. Peter was a little shaken, I think. He just stared wide-eyed at them while they attacked. It was strange. He's been acting oddly, lately, don't you think?"_

"_And Frank is alright?"_

"_Yes, Sirius. He's fine."_

"…_.I don't want you to fight any more. I don't want you out there."_

"_Excuse me?"_

"_You heard me. You're always in the thick of things! What if you get hurt!"_

"_What if _you_ get hurt when you fight? Last week Avery almost cursed off your arm, but did I tell you that you couldn't fight anymore?"_

"_It's different-"_

"_How is it different? Sirius, I know how you feel. Don't I have to watch you leave, knowing you might never come home? I know exactly what you think, and that you wait for the door to open, praying that it will- I do it, too! But I would never stop you!"_

"_I don't want to watch you walk out without me again. I can't handle that."_

"_This is a war. You just have to, Sirius"_

"Sirius? Sirius!"

I snapped out of my daze, incredibly embarrassed. Arthur was watching me, and if Molly's mothering wasn't enough, he had a concerned fatherly expression on his face.

"Hello, Arthur," I said.

But he was looking at the giant stack of plates in front of me, taking in the cake, the remnants of an entire chicken, the potatoes.

"Did you have guests?" he asked, "or did she feed you all this herself?"

"Just me," I told him, "truthfully, I'm glad you got back in time. We're almost out of food, and I was worried that she'd want to cook Buckbeak and shove him down my throat."

Arthur looked slightly embarrassed. "Well, she worries, you know."

I sighed, "I know."

It was quiet for a moment, before Arthur whispered, "yes, I suppose you do. God, I was grateful that she couldn't fight last time. What with baby Bill, and being pregnant with Charlie, and all." He paused, "it always amazed me how well you coped with _her_ being out and about, so active in the fighting. I don't know how I would have handled it."

"I barely could," I told him, feeling my throat tighten. "Every time she left I couldn't sit, I couldn't think. I couldn't do anything but wait til she got back."

Silence descended, and I could hear the ticking of the clock in the next room. I was infinitely grateful that Molly had run off somewhere, although I did suspect that she was just waiting for me to leave the room. Still, it was nice to sit there with Arthur. We'd done it every so often during the last war, and it felt almost natural to be doing it then. I half expected _her_ to come in, with that taut smile that she wore throughout those last few months of war, when she was so worried all the time.

"Feeling nostalgic?" Arthur asked, with a smile. "So am I. I was remembering you at school," he looked sideways at me. "You were such a little shit. But you showed such potential. You and James."

"Yeah," I smiled. "Pity that didn't work out so well. Voldemort's ruined the world for a lot of people, hey?"

Arthur sighed. "I just want my children to never have to experience this. That was all I wanted, for them to live completely in peace, to not have their childhood disrupted by fear, by all that moving around, do you remember, Sirius, how often we had to move around?"

I nodded. "Of course. How could I forget?" All the boxes- the dingy little houses in the middle of nowhere- _her_ scathing expression as she surveyed our new 'home'. The jokes, the digs- 'lets just live outside.' Or, 'if the deatheaters had to live like this, the war would be over by now'.I would never forget. "Lets face it, Arthur, we had a crap time of it. We always did. Just expected to follow Dumbledore around, blindly, trusting him to protect us, or if not us, our families."

I half expected Arthur to shout at me, and perhaps he should have, but he knew how I felt and why I felt it. It didn't mean much to some people, but Arthur had been exactly where I had. He knew what it was like to fear for your family, and, more importantly, he knew exactly what I was thinking.

"He did his best, Sirius," he said tiredly. "And, though I know this won't be much comfort to you, he managed to catch most of us in his safety net. But he was, and is, just _one_ man. How we ever expected so much of him…..it was foolish."

"But we trusted him," I said tiredly. "_I_ trusted him."

"I know. I did too. And I don't regret that, not for a second. " Arthur said, almost sternly. "He got us through a lot. He really did. What happened to you was… tough. I understand that. Not even the ordeal of it all, not even that your best friends were gone, but that not one of us trusted you enough to say "I don't believe it," not even once." He sighed, "I suppose, without the immediate threat over our heads, we weren't as sure of each other as we once were."

"But I didn't only trust him with myself." I told Arthur, and I was surprised at how harsh my voice sounded. "I trusted him with _her_."

"Oh, Sirius," Arthur said sadly, and I waited for the rest.

I waited for the reprimand, for the reminder that she was gone long before I was, that she hid herself so well that _I_ hadn't been able to find her, let alone Dumbledore. I waited to hear that she had told Dumbledore she was leaving, waited to hear that she'd asked him to let her go.

But even had Arthur told me all that, I would still not have forgiven Dumbledore, because, if he had spent half of the energy he had spent on Lily and James on _us_, then _she_ would still be alive today.

But Arthur did not say any such thing. He merely sat with me for a while, smoking from his pipe and remembering. For a while, it was lovely. Lovely and calm. My thoughts flew everywhere, remembering every single time I had fretted over her absence, and every single time that anxiety had been washed away by her touch. Gone. She was gone. But in my mind, she could come and go any time. And, even though I knew it would mean I was insane, I longed for nothing more than to feel her touch again, to wash away my pain.

But then Arthur spoke. He spoke your name, and I could not handle it. Because in the memory I was living out, the one where Arthur sat with me, waiting for her to come home, you were yet to exist. Your life punctured the illusion of your mother's, and I could not take that.

And so, without saying a word, I scooted back my chair and left. Unfortunately, I could block out what Arthur was saying to me, but the expression on his face, so offended and lost, stayed with me. After all, he was just trying to help.

And then came the guilt. Not only for being so abrupt with Arthur, but because, for a second, there, I had denied that you existed. I have been doing that for 14long years. It is time that I stopped.

I promise, Estelle, that I will never pretend you into nothing. You will always be foremost in my mind.

Alongside _her_

….

It was Wednesday night, and our entire group was sitting around on the floor of the Gryffindor common room, pooling our knowledge in an attempt to scrape half decent grades for all the assignments that were due.

By some strange quirk (or perhaps it was agreed during a conference) Professor Slughorn, Professor MacGonnagal and Professor Elberforth (Defence Against the Dark Arts) had all set us essays due on exactly the same day. Thursday.

You see our problem.

Admittedly, these assignments had been set to us early on in the term, but who could blame us for ignoring them? We were seventeen years old (Happy Birthday to me) and schoolwork was not only the least i_nteresting_ thing we had to consider, but also in our minds the least _important_.

That is, until due date.

And so, we were all sitting on the floor of the Common Room with several trees' worth of parchment spread out before us, and several empty coffee pots scattered around the room.

"Ok. Uh, I'm kind of lost, here, Moony," I began, poking my quill into Remus' ear until he paid attention to me. With a sigh, he turned to face me, wearing an exasperated, weary expression. I smiled brightly. "I was talking about the importance of appearance-altering spells in an auror's repertoire, and I forgot what I was saying."

Remus yawned. He had finished his assignments long ago, and was only staying downstairs with us because he was a good and dutiful friend. "What's the question?" he asked, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. I should point out that by Wednesday night, I mean Thursday morning.

I picked up my parchment and cleared my throat, ready for a dramatic recitation. "_Which areas of magical expertise should be considered instrumental in increasing the survival rates of prospective Aurors and why? (Excludes cunning, and other unteachable qualities)_." Just reading the question exhausted me, and I threw the parchment onto the ground with a sigh. "I was doing appearance-altering and concealment spells, but I haven't gotten as far as I'd hoped."

James looked up. "You're doing appearance?" he asked, sounding close to frantic. "I chose offensive spells."

Lily smiled tiredly and ran a hand over his hair. "James, it doesn't mean that you're wrong. It's an _essay_. Back up your points and you'll be just fine. I'm doing defensive spells." Apparently placated, James' eyes lost their panicked glaze, and his breathing returned to normal.

Remus rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "You think that maybe your choices are demonstrative of your personalities?" he asked dreamily. I thought he might he half asleep.

I opened my mouth to answer, but someone else jumped in first.

"That makes Sirius a coward, James a hothead who picks fights, and Lily a pacifist." Lee drawled from the corner.

James seemed pretty content with that. "True, true." He agreed, yawning loudly before accidentally missing his parchment and spattering ink on Lily's skirt. She didn't notice. Neither did James.

"True?" I growled over at Lee, sitting up angrily and dotting an 'i' so vigorously that I tore the parchment. "I'm a coward?"

"I didn't say _that_." She protested languidly. "I just said that _if_ your choices were demonstrative of your personalities, it would make you a coward."

I glanced over at her, tired and irritated. "Why are you even _here_?" I demanded. It was actually a pretty good question. She was, after all, sitting in the corner of our common room with one leg stretched out before her and the other held against her chest, while she painted something strange on her toenails. "What are you doing?" I asked, forgetting to be angry about the coward thing in my bemusement.

She smiled at me and waved a small brush around the air. "Painting my nails." She said gleefully.

"Smells foul and sounds weird." Was James' prognosis. "What does it do?"

With something akin to actual enthusiasm, Lee turned to face us. "It changes the colour of your nails," she announced proudly. "Mine are red now, see?" She extended a foot for us to admire, and indeed, each nail was now painted perfectly in bright red. "It's a muggle thing."

We all stared at her in shock and confusion, except for Lily, who smiled in such a way that we immediately knew who it was that had put her on to this.

"Okay," James said slowly. "But why not just change the colour using a spell? Saves you brewing up that stuff."

Lee rolled her eyes. "You think I _made_ this?" she asked scathingly. "You think muggle girls sit around cauldrons and _brew their own makeup_?" James blinked in confusion. "You _buy_ it." Lee explained.

This seemed only to add to James' bafflement. "So then you should _definitely_ use magic. It's free."

"It's _boring_." Lee complained. "Besides, this is fun." She twisted her foot around so that we could admire her pedicure from all angles, "and anyway, I don't want my nails to be _permanently_ red."

"Oh, good. She _isn't_ completely crazy," I muttered.

"Of course not! Next week, I think I might make them purple."

"Purple!" James exclaimed. "Geez, Lee, at least red is a Gryffindor colour."

Lee gave him a scathing look and he squirmed. "And I would care, _why_?"

"Just don't paint them green," Annika muttered sleepily. Her head was in my lap, which was making it seriously difficult for me to write my essay. "That would look like you had fungus."

Lee grinned.

It was funny how well they actually got along. They never sought each other's company of their own accord, but when we were all together, they didn't need to pretend to have fun or like each other. It came naturally. At first I had decided that Lee was in the process of executing a brilliant plan to win me back, which involved befriending Annika and then killing her, but, after watching them giggle together and watching Lee flirt with whoever was closest, I figured that maybe I was wrong.

_Maybe_

"Why paint them, though?" I asked, "I mean what purpose does it serve?"

"Looks good." Lee answered with a shrug.

"In _your_ opinion," I muttered, and Remus smiled.

Lee caught on to the smile and beamed charmingly in his direction. "Remus thinks it's pretty, don't you, Remus?"

She wasn't flirting- she was just searching for allies, and she found one in Remus, who smiled loyally and said. "I think it's very… interesting." Ever the diplomat.

Lee's laugh was low and sultry. "English people… _so_ non-committal. It _is_ pretty! My toes can look like a rainbow, if I want."

"Right now they look like you murdered Annika and dipped your toes in her blood." I said mischeviously.

Perturbed, Annika sat up. "Me? Why did she murder me?"

"I didn't murder anybody!" Lee reassured us. "I just made my toes look pretty- that is all." Remus smiled at her again. His tiredness had worn away at his usual timidity. He was openly staring at her now, and Lee had noticed. Clearly under the impression that he was delusional, she gave him a sympathetic smile and patted him on the head.

"Fat lot of good _that_ is." I scoffed, and Lee turned away from Remus, eyes gleaming with the prospect of a fight. But perhaps remembering the present company (and knowing how vocal our fights could be) she restrained herself.

"Don't you think it's useful to look pretty?" she asked, poking her bottom lip out as though she were offended.

"Very useful, yes," I drawled. "In fact, I'm going to put that in my essay. _'Appearance-altering spells not only help Aurors evade their enemies, but also allow them to look really pretty with just a flick of their wands.'_ Genius."

"Wonderful topic sentence," Remus enthused dreamily. "And if _that's_ all sorted…" He lay his head down on a pile of discarded parchment and closed his eyes.

"What points have you got so far?" Lee asked me, propping her chin on her hand. I sniffed and turned away. "You're offended because I hypothetically called you a coward?" She asked in disbelief. "_Men_. Such children. Fine, what if I change it to…..plotter. No longer a coward, but a cunning plotter, because you attack using subtle tactics."

Annika had by now relaxed into my lap a bit. She hadn't moved in a while, and the sounds that she was making indicated that she was asleep. Or maybe had turned into a hungry pig.

Not particularly appealing, but certainly entertaining. I chortled momentarily, before remembering that I was talking to Lee. And that I'd been a little annoyed with her.

I glanced up and saw that she was watching me. As our eyes met, she pulled a skein of hair across her upper lip, like a moustache, and waggled her eyebrows at me.

"Nah, see," I explained, returning to our conversation with a grin on my face. "It isn't about how _well_ you attack. The question is asking which spells would be most useful when it comes to keeping the aurors alive, not bringing in criminals. If they can conceal themselves or change their appearance, even when wounded, escape would be possible. Just whack on a new face and boom." I clapped my hands to emphasize my statement, causing Annika to murmur unhappily in her sleep. "You're ready."

"Ingenious," Lee whispered dramatically in French. I threw an inkwell at her, and without flinching, she lifted a hand and caught it. It was amazing that after so many years, I still always forgot that she was on the quidditch team. With a sigh, she waved her wand, cleaning the ink off of the carpet and her hands.

"Next time you have a problem with me," Lee said, siphoning the last of the ink away, "don't take it out on the carpet. Oh, and get some sensibly coloured ink, this is ridiculous."

"Yeah, you're right," I said sarcastically. "_Red_ is a really dumb colour on anything but clothes." I shot a meaningful look at her feet.

Lee shrugged. "And that," she told me, "is why they made it the _Gryffindor_ house colour." Eyes still closed, Remus chuckled in amusement.

Lily grinned, watching us. Eventually, neither of us could take the expression on her face any longer. "Lily," I said, "what?"

"You fight like an old married couple." She laughed, "seriously."

It was funny for about two seconds, and then I remembered that last time someone had compared us to a married couple; it had been Lee, and we had started snogging about a minute later, and hadn't stopped for months.

Lee did not appear to have made this connection yet, or if she had, her poker face was excellent. In fact, as I watched she whipped a pack of cigarettes out of her robes and pulled one out, lighting it over the fire.

"Siriusly?" she asked with a smile.

Lily rolled her eyes, and I threw a shoe at Lee. "Old!" I shouted, "seriously old! Can we get over those jokes already?"

"_Siriusly_ old?" She repeated, laughing and dodging the shoe. It hit the back of the fat Lady's portrait and bounced off. "Wash your feet, they smell." She advised me, and James sniggered rather immaturely. But that was to be expected. After all, he still thought fart jokes were hilarious.

"Yeah well," I smiled. "You're going to have to get used to that when we're roommates. Here's some more practice for you." Concentrating on my aim a little more, I lobbed the second shoe at her. But this time, nobody laughed.

Not even Lee, who stopped the thing with a flick of her wand, and was looking at me with a familiar expression on her face, one she often wore when her eyes met mine. It clearly said: 'you are _such_ an idiot.'

Annika wasn't asleep any more. "What!" she asked, "you're moving in together?"

An awkward silence ensued.

I decided to break it, just as Annika jumped out of my lap. All the better to dagger me, I suppose. "Ok, that wasn't _quite_ how I had planned to tell you." I said, more to myself than anybody else, "see, the thing is…" but, I knew that if I spoke another word, Annika would impale me on the nearest sharp object so, rather proving Lee's 'coward' theory, I merely gestured to her, inviting her to explain. "Lee knows what the thing is."

Now at least I could tell that she was thinking the same thing as me.

"Coward," she muttered in French. I couldn't help but smiling, "ok, everybody. This seems wrong, but please don't think of it as anything other than a business merger."

Annika looked from Lee to me, aghast. "You are _paying_ her?" she squeaked angrily.

"Hell no," I scoffed. "_She_ would be paying _me_."

Annika turned very pink.

"I will pay you to shut up," Lee snapped, pressing a finger to each of her temples.

"With what money?" I snapped back, and, to my surprise, she looked actually grateful.

"Thank you," she said, confusing me further. "Somehow, Black has stumbled upon the crux of the matter; I can't pay my own rent anymore, for reasons to numerous to discuss, and so, Sirius is paying it for me." Everybody looked up at her, blinking in confusion. Apparently assuming that they'd managed to absorb that information, Lee sighed and continued. "I, in turn, will cook and clean- like a live-in maid."

Annika looked less than mollified, "A _French_ maid." She spat.

James, myself, Remus and Peter (who was sitting unobtrusively by the fire) all simultaneously looked upwards, living this every-man's fantasy in our minds. As one, we pictured beautiful Lee in a short black dress with a little white apron, brandishing a feather duster.

Lily and Annika pursed their lips and hit their respective boyfriends (namely James and myself). Lee merely smiled almost patronisingly, eyebrow raised disdainfully. By god she could do contempt so much better than I.

"Unfortunately, I left my uniform at my pimp's house." She said sweetly, "so I'll just be cooking and cleaning _without _clothes."

This was merely food for an even more interesting fantasy. But none of us were stupid enough to indulge just then.

"You, you, _slut_." Annika said angrily.

"Annika, you can't pin this all on Lee…..oh. You mean me?"

Annika nodded, wand pointed in my direction. "Yes, I mean you. Everybody knows you can't stick to one girl. I should have known, too."

This was unfair. The one time I really hadn't done the wrong thing, and yet I was getting dumped for the first time ever. "Annika! I haven't _done_ anything."

"Not _yet._" She snapped, and I threw my hands in the air in exasperation. My eyes immediately sought out my traditional ally in James, but he looked less than impressed with me.

"You couldn't have shared this with me, or anything, Sirius," he said, quite sternly, and I realised he felt rejected. "Seeing as you've spent the last year living in my attic, I would have thought that I had a right to know."

Lily, too, looked a little angry. "I'm sorry, Lee, but do you _really_ think this is smart, considering his…._reputation_." I turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised. She raised her hands defensively. "Hey, Sirius, all I'm saying is that everybody will assume that you're sleeping together. It will be a scandal."

"Well we weren't exactly considering putting posters up or anything," I snapped at her. "We were going to keep the publicity campaign relatively restrained, in fact. Not even handing out flyers."

"I don't think you're _doing_ anything, Padfoot, but don't you think that this could be kind of damaging for Lee?" I was surprised to hear Remus contribute, stony faced from the corner.

"What?" I asked, gobsmacked. "It was _her_ idea." I reflected for a moment on the utter unfairness of the situation. "I'm doing her a favour." I said weakly. "A _favour_!"

"Look, you get around with a lot of girls," Remus continued solemnly, although looking slightly red, "and that's cool for a guy. But for a girl…..Lee would be talked about."

"She's _already_ talked about," Peter supplied unhelpfully from the corner.

"Thank you, _Peter,"_ I said through gritted teeth. A part of me was uncharitably angry not at my friends, but at Lee, who was leaving me to defend both her and myself, without help

"It's true, she is! Her reputation is almost as bad as yours!" Annika snarled, and my self-preservation happily acknowledged that her anger had switched from myself to Lee. Not that Lee seemed particularly perturbed, I shot her a glance only to see her shrug in agreement, as though she were saying 'what can you do?' This seemed to enrage Annika more. "Everybody _knows_ that she screws around. Hell, she was what, fourteen when she came to Hogwarts, and she'd already been kicked out of one school for screwing the teachers!"

I winced on Lee's behalf. "Uh, gorgeous, let's not go down that road," I suggested.

Annika's eyes swiveled to meet mine. I have never been so terrified of another human being in my entire life. "Sorry, darling," she said sweetly, "am I making you feel UNCOMFORTABLE?"

She threw a coffee pot at me, and it bounced off a table, shattering.

"Guys! Stop trashing the common room!" Lily yelled, wand waving as she tried to restore order.

"Ouch," I snapped. Annika had launched another coffee pot at me, and, trying to dodge it, I had leant back on a shard of her previous missile, cutting my hand open. "Calm down, everybody! Annika, I'm not sleeping with Lee! Seriously!" I could just about feel Lee's lips twitch at that. "We've tried that before, and it was a disaster. She is _totally_ wrong for me."

"What do you mean you've 'tried that before'?" someone asked. I supposed it was Remus, and immediately a tiny little Lee, complete with maid's outfit, danced around my head, singing 'idiot, idiot, idiot' over and over again.

"Lee?" I cried in desperation, still dodging Annika's well-aimed missiles. Perhaps _she_ should have been on the quidditch team. "Lee, help me out!"

"What do you mean _I_ was totally wrong for _you_?" I heard a voice ask archly. "You don't think maybe you're giving me _far_ too much credit?"

I was already pissed off, and not in the mood for another person being furious at me. Luckily, Lee was just exercising her perverse sense of humour, and I felt her walk past me not a second later, right into the middle of the argument.

"Alright, now," She said calmly, catching a passing coffee pot with one hand, "everybody, SHUT UP!"

Some people have this insane ability to capture the attention of every single person in whichever room they are in, with a modicum of effort.

Lee was undeniably one such person.

I was extremely impressed by the way everybody was staring at her, expressions a mixture of fear, anger and embarrassment. All totally silent.

And I remained impressed, until I saw Lee's shoulders slump, and heard her sigh in defeat as she turned around. _Then_ I thought to look behind her.

"Yes, indeed. A marvellous suggestion, Miss Dahlquist. If only you had thought to give it _sooner_. Perhaps, _before_ the entire school was woken by your ridiculous brawl."

I sighed, empathising completely with Lee, and turned around. Professor MacGonnagal was a vision in a tartan dressing gown, and an excellent example of why middle aged women should _not_ wear their hair in plaits.

"Good morning, Professor," I called heartily.

"Oh, shut up, Black," she snapped, eyes never leaving Lee's. "Of course, Miss Dahlquist, perhaps if you had stayed in your own common room, where you are _supposed_ to be, we would have had no need for your suggestion."

"So, somehow, this is Lee's fault?" James asked, sounding almost hopeful. So much for loyalty. I caught Lee's eyes and she winked at me.

Macgonnagal's lips pursed to such a degree that her top lip disappeared completely. "Well," she began, words clipped, "considering that every other night I have been able to sleep _without_ needing to come upstairs and remind you all of why we bother to have _nighttime_, I must conclude that the only change tonight is the presence of Miss Dahlquist, and that she is, therefore, the cause of this din."

"I cannot fault your logic," Lee said, almost admiringly, "although, I wish you hadn't thought of it."

"Why _aren't_ you in your room, Miss Dahlquist?" MacGonnagal asked stonily. "I assume the reason is a good one."

"Naturally." Lee replied, hands clasped in from of her, looking completely serious. "Lily didn't want to come into the Slytherin dorm."

MacGonnagal opened her mouth, then closed it again, then looked at me. "Oh, for heavens sake! Get off the floor, you imbecilic child."

"That wasn't nice, professor." I told her. "You're probably doing irreparable damage to my psyche." Macgonnagal rolled her eyes in exasperation. "And why does everybody keep getting angry at me when it's _Lee_ who does things?"

"Like she forced you to sleep with her," Annika muttered resentfully.

I _didn't_." I hissed at her. "And _please_, not in front of the professor- or did you _want_ to make this more awkward?"

"How kind of you to have such _consideration_ of my tender ears, Black." MacGonnagal spat at us. "If only you had manifested such concern _before_ you decided to have a lovers' spat of such epic proportions."

"Sirius and I aren't lovers," Annika announced proudly. "_I_ wouldn't sleep with just anybody," this directed at Lee, who smiled and inclined her head in acknowledgement.

"It isn't a lovers' spat, professor." Lily said meekly, attempting against all odds to salvage the situation. "We were really just doing our homework, see?" And Lily, kind, sweet Lily, reached for proof of our productivity. As fate would have it, the notebook she found was mine- Defence Against the Dark Arts. She held it up before I could stop her

Opening it, MacGonnagal raised an eyebrow, expression deadpan. "And what subject, pray tell, is this?" She asked archly.

James and I exchanged a glance. Alright, so maybe he had been right when he suggested that a school book was not the best place to stick a centrefold. "Uh, Muggle studies?" I tried with a winning smile. James erupted into a fit of giggles behind me.

MacGonnagal seemed somewhat less amused. "Indeed." She huffed. "I cannot _wait_ to see what glories you have produced for Transfiguration, tomorrow, Mr Black,"

"Oh, this is his transfiguration," Annika said 'helpfully'.

In my defence, I had at least started to write my essay. The question was written at the top and everything. If Remus and I had decided to play hangman underneath, it was not so big a deal.

"We were studying, really," I told her, "see? ANIMAGUS. That counts as transfiguration….."

"Well, Mr Black, if this is your essay, allow me to grade it now," she said kindly. Then her eyes flashed red, and she scrunched it into a tiny ball, throwing it onto the flames, "T."

"Ah," I said blankly, watching it go up in flames, "did you consider maybe moving it up to a D, after all, the enchantment on the hangman was pretty good. Did you see the way he was clawing at his throat? Very lifelike."

"Truly spectacular, Mr Black," she drawled. "Clearly, we can expect great things from you." Annika sniggered unkindly, and I glared at her. Macgonnagal's beady eyes zoned in on us in a second. "Enough." She snapped, and Annika's smile fell. "All of you idiotic disturbers of the peace have a special appointment with the headmaster. Now."

We trooped up to Dumbledore's office, utterly at a loss for words. Annika was walking at the head of the pack, ignoring me completely. In contrast, Lee brought up the rear. Symbolically, I was situated right in the middle, and I was not going to move forwards or back, no way.

I was the 'middle man'.

To my surprise, Peter fell back after a while, to walk next to Lee.

She really had very little tolerance for him, a fact that she had made very clear early on. She hated, as she put it, "hangers-on, brown nosers, imbecilic try-hards and suck ups." My own suspicion was that, in an effort to find the right words to describe dear Peter, she researched each and every synonym for butt-kisser. I always admired her dedication to making people feel like crap.

Anyway, I was curious as to what he was going to say to her, and was falling back to hear, when I noticed that Annika was glancing back at me every now and then, and the closer I got to Lee, the angrier she looked. I sped up again and fell into step beside Remus.

Remus, who, incidentally, though quiet, did not appear angry with me. He walked looking down, with a slight frown on his face and his hands jammed into the pockets of his nightrobe.

That was another thing; all of us were wearing pyjamas, except for Lee, who was wearing her school skirt, odd socks, and her school tie as a headband. As I watched, she seemed to decide she wasn't _quite_ indecent enough as is, and so quite deliberately untucked her shirt and undid another button.

Dumbledore was waiting for us in MacGonnagal's office.

Now, here is the crux of this matter; Dumbledore and I had little to do with each other. I believe I have already told you about the time he caught me picking Filch's lock? Well, counting that, I had seen him about five times, face to face. No matter what James and I did wrong, no matter how much we acted up, MacGonnagal was the one we faced; never Dumbledore. I think that the idea there was to kid us into thinking that we weren't actually that significant, that we were nobodies who did not deserve his attention. As if. We all knew that there was a segment of all staff meetings wherein the issue of 'those seventh years' was discussed.

"Good morning, students!" Dumbledore trilled cheerfully now, "feeling chipper, I hope? It is horrible to be tired at such a young age." He was wearing a satin night robe, thick woolly socks, and a hat with a pompom on the tip. Somehow, though, nobody laughed.

"We're fine, thanks, professor." I answered on everybody's behalf.

"Full of energy?" he asked, eyes twinkling.

I felt a little worried, glancing at James, who shrugged. "Always," I answered warily.

He beamed. "Well, _obviously_, seeing as you have woken up so very early in the morning! You, Miss Dahlquist, I see, are already dressed for school."

Lee smiled, "I like to come prepared." She told him, "what can I say? I'm an early bird."

"Naturally!" he clapped his hands together cheerfully. "Well, honestly, when Professor MacGonnagal here told me you were all already awake, I must say, I was impressed. I could hardly believe my ears."

We waited.

"It is, of course, amazingly convenient."

"Amazingly," I echoed lamely.

"Yes!" he enthused, "you must have been so bored, and here we are with the perfect task for you all."

Oh god.

"Apparently, the flubber worms have unexpectedly exploded." He continued happily. "In the great hall, no less. An absolute accident, of course."

Of course. James shot me a look which clearly said 'I _knew_ we went too far when we smeared them all over the banister'. I shrugged- 'what can you do?'

Dumbledore caught our exchange. When I turned back to him, he was smiling amusedly.

"Quite sad, of course." He shook his head regretfully. "The third years were _so _looking forwards to playing with them." His sigh was resignedly happy as his eyes raised to smile at us all. "Ah well, since you're all up?"

It wasn't a question. It was a cruel, cruel punishment. Heads meekly bowed, we all trooped towards the door.

"Oh, and students?" We turned around to see Dumbledore's happy face. "I know that many things have changed over the years, and no doubt the youth of today would find the ways of an old man like me outdated and strange, but I find that, when it gets dark, like it is now, it is a convenient time to close your eyes, and _sleep_." We all wore equally bleak expressions, and Dumbledore chuckled. "In fact," he mused, "I think I'll do so now. Enjoy your evening!"

We were already in the great hall before I realised that Lee wasn't with us. Not feeling particularly disposed towards being charitable, I turned to MacGonnagal.

"Professor, I think Dahlquist might have gotten lost somewhere on the way from your office to the hall." I drawled sarcastically. "She isn't here."

"Well spotted, Mr Black. Your powers of observation are obviously unaffected by lack of sleep." MacGonnagal snapped. "Professor Dumbledore needed to speak to Miss Dahlquist in his office. She will join you all later, perhaps."

This gave way to a cacophony of complaining about the unfairness of it all, until MacGonnagal threatened to put a silencing charm on all of us ("I _will_ sleep tonight! You cannot stop me!").

We lowered our voices.

We cleaned for a good few hours (James and I had underestimated the number of flubber worms a tad), and it was nearly morning when we finished off. Though I worked alongside Annika for all that time, she would not say a single word to me, and as soon as we finished she strode off without a backward glance.

I felt a strange pang of something in my gut. Something akin to…..regret? Guilt?

"You go up, Sirius," James whispered to me. "I'll finish up here. After all, I was the one who exploded them. I was a bit too…enthusiastic. Besides, you have your essay….."

I thanked him mutely, patting him on the back. He knew I was emotionally drained. We'd had to discuss too many 'feelings' tonight. I was practically _allergic_ to feelings.

On the way up to the common room, I thought about Annika and Lee, and about how much I had offended both of them over the past few weeks. And then my mind focused on Lee, beautiful Lee, and how awful our fight had been. I wondered if my agreeing to move in with her was just an attempt to make amends. And then my thoughts went from Lee to Annika, and I kept thinking about how much I liked her, and how good we were together, when we weren't fighting.

And it was then that I realised that, because of some inconsequential snog I'd had with Lee, I was throwing away potential happiness with Annika. Annika who was beautiful, intelligent, wonderful. Perfect for me.

And here was my epiphany; 'Stop seeing Lee as in between a friend and a Girlfriend. She is no more than a friend, and not a close one. Not until Annika trusts you again.'

With this in mind, I winked at the fat lady, who swung back to let me in with a giggle, and then...

"Lee?"

She was standing, with her back to me, facing the fire. In one hand, she was holding a shoe, and in the other, her robes.

"Black." She intoned thickly. "I vas look'eeng for my shoes. 'Ave you seen 'zem?"

The accent tipped it off. That, and the fact that she hadn't turned around once.

"Lee, what the hell is up with you?" I asked, curious, despite my earlier resolutions. But then, friends asked friends if they were okay, didn't they? Yes, I decided. They did.

Lee turned around, looking tired. Her mascara was smudged under her eyes, but not in her usual, deliberate way. It looked like she'd been crying. "No'zing much," she said calmly, "my mother died."

I waited for tears and for weeping. I waited for denial, for rage, for sadness. I waited for any sign of emotion beyond this lethargy which seemed to have taken her over, but nothing came. I wanted to hug her, but Annika's face swam around in my mind, and my feet were rooted to the spot.

I said nothing.

She smiled sadly, and I thought that maybe she'd understood why I hadn't made one move to comfort her yet. She was always a quick study.

I wondered if she'd mention it- the obvious shift in my loyalties- but she didn't. Instead, she gazed tiredly into the fireplace before continuing. "She died yesterday. 'Zey only found her body zis morning." With a sigh, she ran a hand through her tangled mess of hair. When she spoke next, her voice was so incredibly weary. "She killed herself."

I couldn't believe it. "Just like-" I began, but she tensed.

"Out of loneliness." She finished, cutting me off. "The funeral is tomorrow, I have to go back to France, tonight..." she case an almost anxious glance over her shoulder. "Dumbledore is vaiting for me now."

I rooted around my mind for something, anything, to say to her; I came up blank. My relationship with my mother was so different to Lee's. Lee _loved_ her mother- she was her only ally, her only true family.

I didn't have that connection with my mother, but I attempted to empathise. In desperation, I considered what I myself would wonder, where I in her place. "What arrangements have been made?" I asked her, wincing at how cold my question sounded.

She sighed, with that sad, understanding little smile again. "My father is arranging the funeral." She said quietly. "I am taking ze flu network to his house," she paused, and closed her eyes. "It's been three years since I've seen 'im."

I had a small idea of what she must be going through. After all, I'd had to see _my_ family at the will reading. But Lee was different to me, I thought- she was stronger. But then I saw that her eyes were still closed, and I realised that she was scared, no matter how well she had managed to control her voice.

I'd never seen her scared. She was always the strongest one.

"Sirius?" She said shakily, and I looked up, meeting her eyes. "I have a favour to ask." She whispered.

"Anything, Lee. Anything to make it alright." I said, feeling physical pain at the fear, the uncertainty in her voice.

"Please." She said, her voice thick with emotion. "Please _please_ come wit' me to France. I can't face him alone."

I looked at the way she was standing, still clutching that shoe, her other arm wrapped around her body, which was tensed up like she was expecting a blow. And I said nothing.

"One day, Sirius, zat is all. Maybe two. I just- I can't face him alone. I'm not strong like you are." Her voice broke on those last words, and I felt my heart crack a little alongside her. She steadied herself with a deep breath and said calmly, "I went wit' you to your uncle's will reading- I know zat zis is more… but… _please._"

She needed me. She was in trouble, she was my friend and she _needed _me. But I knew what answer I had to give. I had known from the second she had asked. I was just not sure how to tell her.

_Straight out_

"I can't, Lee." I said plainly. She flinched, and I felt a thrill of guilt. _Just friends_, I reminded myself. _Not even good friends._ "I can't." I repeated, clearing my throat awkwardly. "But, uh, hey, my condolences."

She jerked her head away, nodding. "_Bien sûr_. Thank you."

She walked towards the portrait hole, still holding just the one shoe, and without her robe. As she bent to get out, she hesitated, and I knew that, if I wanted, I could take back what I had said, and run out with her.

I said nothing.

As I watched, her posture tensed up slightly, and I waited for her to say goodbye. But she didn't. She just left.

And then she was gone.

_Hope you're enjoying this so far.. just another plea to review if you are. thank you! xxx_


	18. Chapter 18

It was reasonably apparent, when we woke the next morning and trooped down to breakfast that something wasn't right.

Lily, yawning and half asleep on James' shoulder, may not have noticed it first, but she was certainly the first to mention it. "Lee's rather quiet this morning," she said, tiredly.

"That would be an understatement, Lily," James said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, "more appropriate is; Lee's rather nonexistent this morning.

Remus looked up, glancing quickly around, looking for her, I suppose. But when his gaze met mine, it dropped instantly.

Perhaps all was not forgiven. Not that I could blame him for that.

"This is weird." Lily said, sitting upright. "Lee _always _meets us for breakfast. _Always_. She knows it annoys the Slytherins." It was true. Once, she'd managed to start a food fight.

Now, as is common when a friend has suddenly vapourised and is nowhere to be found, Lily was concerned for Lee. And James, naturally, was concerned for Lily. And Remus was Remus, so he was perturbed, too. As is only natural, they began to discuss possibilities.

"Ah, she's probably just hungover." James offered with a grin.

Lily frowned skeptically. "James, there was only _coffee_ in that coffee pot." She said. "Lee promised me that she'd keep our study session kosher, and wouldn't distract us at all."

"What is more likely, here?" James asked with a grin. "That Lee meekly agreed that it would be productive for us all to _study_, or that she told a little white lie and added a 'secret ingredient' to our beverages to, ah, brighten up our learning?"

Even Lily couldn't argue with that. "Lee's definition of 'kosher' _is_ different to most people's." she conceded. "But she'd never just go and get drunk alone, and she was sober when we said goodnight."

"Maybe she ran away again." Peter put forward. "Like she did in France. Maybe she doesn't like you anymore."

There was an awkward silence.

"Sirius?" I looked sharply at Remus, who was watching me from behind guarded eyes. "Any ideas?"

I considered briefly. "I'm sure she's fine." I said, finally, then looked away.

I had bigger fish to fry. Pushing Lee from my mind, I concentrated on finding Annika, the girl I'd unofficially chosen the night before. I'd set things straight with Lee, and I'd realized she was the one I needed. All that was left to be done was for me to tell _her_ that.

Perhaps that sounds silly to you. But in fact, it was a novel thing for me. I was always the one being pursued in relationships. It was rare that I had to convince somebody, no, _beg_ somebody to understand that I was the man for them.

The novelty of the situation was making me excited, in an odd sort of way. The prospect of humiliation was like an adrenaline rush.

When I saw her, I almost jumped out of my chair in eagerness, but restrained myself at the last instant. Begging or not, I would be dignified.

In fact, I could probably make begging look cool.

Not that Annika paid much attention to me, anyhow. Merely walked on by me, as though I did not exist, not even seeming to register Lee's rather conspicuous absence. I was personally reasonably shocked. I thought she would have enjoyed gloating about it.

But apparently that came second on her list, right after making me feel like the most pathetic and unloved piece of excrement in the universe.

"Maybe she slept in?" James was suggesting now, and Lily nodded uncertainly. "Or she might be going for a dramatic entrance?"

That seemed almost likely. If I hadn't known otherwise, I would have believed that. But… No. It was _Annika_ I had to be thinking about now. Annika.

I glanced over at Remus, who was flicking disconsolately through the Prophet.

"You look worried, Moony," I said, "something bad going on?"

"You could say that," Remus sighed, running a hand through his hair, "muggle killings, left right and centre. They say they're definitely premeditated, and all done by the same lot."

"Any ideas who?" Lily asked, head shooting off of James' shoulder in curiosity, and perhaps concern, after all, her parents were muggles.

"The ministry hasn't released any official statements," Remus summed up for us, eyes scanning the paper, "but there've been several sightings of this sign over the houses of the victims, wanna see?"

He held the paper up for us, and we craned in to stare at the small photograph of a cloud of greenish light hovering over a house, flickering slightly. The design looked familiar to me. I knew I had seen it before.

"They're calling it the 'dark mark'," James read, frowning, "weird." We waited expectantly, and he grinned, "well, after all you'd think that evil warlocks wouldn't be into rhyming and poetry, seems out of character."

Nobody laughed, it was something to be sad about. Even I hadn't made any jokes as yet.

"It's probably a term coined by the prophet," Lily sighed, resting her head on her hands, "we know what they can be like, sometimes."

"Maybe," Remus frowned, "although it says here that the followers of this weird cult thing refer to it as 'the dark mark', and wear it always, whatever that means."

"Maybe a necklace," Peter suggested, "or a bracelet?"

I sighed, "Wormy, these are hardened murderers. I sincerely doubt they run about the place wearing _jewellery_."

"Where's it say that part about the mark?" James asked, craning his head to look over at the paper. He frowned slightly for a moment, then scoffed, "god, Remus, you can't actually think that this is a serious source. I mean, it comes from old Mrs Lovegood, and she's loony as all hell."

"Sssh," Lily hushed him, "Xeno's sitting right over there."

"God, like he cares. He's all caught up looking for Wibblies or something," James snorted, "you know, he came up to me the other day, completely out of the blue. And when I made to say 'hello', he just shoved a pamphlet into my hand and disappeared."

"What was the pamphlet on?" Remus asked, curious.

James shrugged and spooned some cereal into his mouth, "crumpled snorkies, or something like that."

I sniggered.

"Where is Lee?" Lily was asking, changing the subject back abruptly, "I mean, she likes to sleep in, but she never stays upstairs this late. I'm worried, now."

"Sirius?" Remus prompted again. I tore my eyes from Annika- how _short_ did she want to wear her skirt?

"Huh?"

"Lee- where do you think she would be?"

"Uh.." I thought back on the conversation. "I don't know- she might be sleeping in still." Lily rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"I just _said_ that she never stays upstairs this late. Where is your head today, Sirius?"

I shrugged lamely and turned back to Annika. Don't think about Lee- _Focus_.

"_Sirius_!" Lily flicked me in the ear. "I'm worried!"

"Goddamn it, Lily." I snapped. "She's probably still sleeping in. We had a _very_ late night. One of our latest yet." I paused for a moment, lost in thought. "Except, you know, for the night we spent moving Macgonnagal's office up to the astronomy tower. Oh, and when we evacuated all the Hufflepuff first years, and made them sleep in the Forbidden Forest- remember that, James?"

Lily's eyes narrowed. "That was _you_? It took forever to get them to come back inside- they thought there was an infestation of vampires- they thought that _we_ were all vampires." James sniggered, and she turned to him, furious. "What did you tell those poor children?"

James looked a little shamefaced. "Nothing! Well- we sort of told them that the whole school had been turned, that they were the last ones left, because the vampires hadn't been able to guess the password to their common room…."

"They just _believed_ that?"

He shrugged. "There may have been some… special effects."

Lily looked a bit like an angry vampire now. "such as?"

James turned to me, and I grinned broadly, happily describing it to her. "Oh, fake blood. Severed limbs." I leaned back casually in my seat, kicking my feet onto the table. "James, you were missing an eye, weren't you?"

"Maybe." James was shifting away from Lily slightly, watching in fear as her hands clenched into fists. "But that doesn't matter- Sirius is just trying to get us off topic." Damn. Yeah, I had been. Discussing Lee was _not _at the top of my list of things to do, "But he _is_ right- it was a late night. That's what makes me doubt that Lee's sleeping in, she probably just didn't bother going back to bed. She reckons it's easier to just keep on going without sleep."

"She does not!" Peter said, aghast, "sleep is important…."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." James rolled his eyes, "just what she said."

There was a moment of silence before Peter spoke again, "I wonder what she does then, when she's not sleeping?" he said, and for some reason, it sounded like a line from a play, like he'd _thought_ about how he would say it. And apparently, he'd decided to go with suggestive.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Remus asked, to my surprise. He'd lowered his paper carefully, and was looking steadily at Peter.

Peter shrugged, eyes all watery, "just a question, Remus. I swear it wasn't anything else."

Remus, shy Remus, held his gaze for a minute more, positively glaring at him, before looking slowly away. A warning if ever I've seen one.

It was silent for a moment, before Lily sighed, "Right. Well, I've had enough of all of you. I'm going to go and ask Slughorn whether or not he knows where she is."

She kissed James on the forehead and strode off. He watched her with a bemused kind of smile on his face, "do you have any idea how strange it is to want something for, well, forever, and then to finally have it, just when you thought it would never ever be yours?"

I thought about it. "No,"

James frowned, "oh, of course not! Not Sirius Black, he gets _everything_ he wants."

"Not everything."

James' eyes widened, and I spun around in my chair, "Annika!"

She was standing behind me, and so, despite the expression of loathing on her face and the boy on her arm, I considered the battle half won.

"I came to end it, Sirius Black," she announced coolly, "I came to end it. To end it now."

"So, you want to _end_ it, then?" I asked, deadpan. James sniggered, reminding me that I was trying to be _nice_ to Annika. I shot her a smile. "I think you're being a bit hasty."

Her eyes narrowed, "why would that be?"

"Well," I shrugged, "because you have absolutely no reason to break up with me."

"I don't like you any more," she spat.

"And so you decided to notify me in person, as though your lecture last night wasn't enough?" I smiled, "come on, Annika, you were hoping that I'd ask for you back."

"You arrogant piece of shi-"

"And you were right." Annika gaped. I smiled, "I will ask for you back. We've had fun these past few weeks. It would be a waste to end it all over some silly little misunderstanding."

"Silly! You're a liar. You just string girls along. You were cheating." the boy holding Annika's shoulder sneered.

"Excuse me?" I asked, deadpan. He shifted awkwardly, "I must have completely forgot that I made this conversation open to idiots."

"Don't be such a prick, Sirius," Annika muttered half-heartedly.

As though I would listen to her.

"Sorry, gorgeous, I can't talk at the moment," I told her, not breaking eye contact with the boy, "me and Annika, here, were discussing the end of our relationship. I was going to try and save it, but I see now that the misunderstanding must have been far from silly, I had no idea I was dating a man, you see."

The boy shifted again, flushing slightly, but I wasn't done. To his credit, he kept eye contact admirably.

"And I am sorry, Annika," I said to him again, "if you think I just string girls along. I would hate to have wounded your feminine pride. But if you weren't so darn beautiful, it would have been worse. As it is, I feel remorse every time I look into your lovely, limpid eyes, tearing up with the pain I have dealt you. A girl like you deserves better"

The Gryffindors around me were laughing pretty freely, and I was just thriving on the attention. James had taken up his usual place in a fight, right next to me, with his arms crossed and his chin thrust up, like a bodyguard.

"You know what?" the boy was trying now, "just sod off! I'm looking out for MY girl, you hear? So I'd appreciate it if you stopped talking to her."

I grinned. What an idiot. "Alright, darling." I drawled. "I think this has gone on long enough. And I think '_your_' girl might agree with me." Annika did indeed look annoyed. "Why don't you just head on back to your friends. Or even better, back to an era where _owning_ people was socially acceptable. Either way, get out of my face. I don't want to skin my knuckles when I break your nose."

He could have stayed, but, apparently being a prudent sort of individual, he left, to a chorus of jeers and warbling falsetto goodbyes from my loyal housemates.

"You would stoop so low?" I asked Annika now, scooting over to make room for her on the table. She sat.

"Short notice," she told me, flipping her hair casually over her shoulder and sighing. "Although, I will admit I was a bit disappointed. He seemed a little more impressive than that."

"Never judge a book by its cover," I told her wisely, "now. Why would you dump me?"

She frowned, "I told you this already." She said dismissively, throwing her nose in the air imperiously

"I want to hear it again."

"Well bad luck. I don't want to tell it again!"

"This is about Lee, isn't it?" I asked patiently. Annika growled. Animalistic. Mildly terrifying. I had to be brave. "Annika," I said softly, "there is _nothing_ between Lee and I. Nothing."

There was a moment of silence, during which I suppose Annika weighed up her options. Should she play it cool, and lose her last chance for information, or should she give in to instinct and yell at me?

"But you're moving in together!" She wailed, and I tried to hide a smile, "don't say there's nothing going on!"

"Annika, baby," I said softly, "I wouldn't do that to you! Honestly, I thought that you were secure enough in this relationship that you would see….I'm not interested in Lee!"

It was a good tactic; pinning the fight back on her. Why didn't she trust me enough? I'm hurt and offended. Sad face, loud sigh.

I sighed loudly. "Honestly, if I had known how much it would offend you, I would never have agreed."

"I don't believe you," Annika told me, "you said last night that you'd tried it with her, and it hadn't worked out. What if you're lonely one night, and she's right there, and it just happens?"

I was irritated, "I just told you that would never happen," I reminded her, "what else can I do?"

Annika smiled, "you could prove to me that you're not interested in her anymore."

"How the hell am I supposed to prove something that vague!" I asked, bewildered, "I mean, it's not like I have a signed document saying that I'm not attracted to her…."

"I wouldn't believe that, anyway." Annika sniffed, "because, even if you _weren't_ attracted to her, it wouldn't stop you. I mean, you're Sirius Black! If you had the opportunity, you would take it. She would offer one day, and then….."

I was struck by inspiration wonderful and unique.

"It's funny you should suggest that," I said with a very solemn expression, "did I tell you what happened after you left, last night?"

Annika's eyes narrowed, and she made to stand up. I grabbed her arm, pulling her back down, "no! You dimwit, not like that! I came back to the common room, and she was there. A complete emotional wreck, I swear. Very easy to manipulate."

I should probably have been aware of where I was telling this story and who was listening, but I was using all my energy to persuade Annika not to walk off and comfort her she-man, who was sulking over at the Ravenclaw table.

I continued: "anyway, you see how she isn't here this morning?" Annika nodded, "right, well. She's back home. In France. And she invited me to go with her, practically _begged_ me." Annika's eyes narrowed speculatively. She wasn't angry, but, like any girl (no offence), she knew the value of having a boyfriend whom other attractive girls wanted.

"But you said no?" she asked quietly now.

I leaned in close to her and took her hand, "I said no. And, knowing full well how corny this is, here's the reason: you."

She shot me a watery smile, "you know what?" she whispered. I asked the obligatory question, "that really _is_ corny."

And then she kissed me, promised we'd meet up for lunch at the usual place (which meant that we would spend little of lunch _actually_ eating, and then walked away.

No sooner had she left then Lily was back, frowning a little bit as she slid into Annika's vacated seat.

"What's wrong, cupcake?" I asked her, feeling rather happy.

"Lee's mother," Lily said, by way of answer, "she died two days ago." There was an awkward silence.

A _long_ one.

"My god," Jams said finally, "how?"

Lily shrugged, "he didn't say."

"Who, Slughorn?"

"No. Dumblefore." Lily looked a little teary, "that's where Lee is now. France, for the funeral. She had to leave pretty much as soon as they got the message. Apparently that's the only reason MacGonnagal came after us last night." We shot her skeptical looks, and Lily frowned. "Seeing as we were so loud, she decided we could all use some discipline, but the real reason was because Lee's father was up in Dumbledore's office, waiting for her to come back for the funeral. He just turned up via flu network."

"You're kidding," James said, sounding shocked, "poor Lee…Lily, don't cry! Lee's strong, she'll be fine!"

Lily was, in fact, crying. She wiped her eyes with her napkin and shook her head, "no, see, James, she just doesn't get along with her father so well. She's a bit scared of him, I think."

"Lee? Lee isn't scared of anything," James said soothingly, "don't worry, Lily."

"If- if she'd asked me, I could have gone with her….."

James frowned, "now listen up, Lily." He said sternly, lifting her chin up and looking into her eyes. "There was nothing you could have done. _You _didn't kill her mother, and _you_ didn't ruin her relationship with her father, so none of this is your fault." She gave a little sob, and he sighed. "And none of that matters overmuch anyway, because even if Lee _had_ wanted you to go, her family wouldn't have let her: you're a muggleborn, and they're snobs."

Lily smiled at him weakly, "poor Lee," she said sadly, and James scooted over to let her rest her head on his shoulder.

They were the picture of marital bliss, discounting, of course, the lack of rings and the school uniforms, which ruined the scene somewhat. Anybody looking on, however, could see their affection for each other.

But there was just one thing which made people's 'aaww's turn into 'aaarrghh!'s. James wasn't looking at Lily while he stroked her hair. He was looking at me. And he did _not_ look particularly impressed.

…..

Yesterday, I talked to Molly.

Just to make things nice and clear, I didn't do it on purpose. It was, in fact, a complete accident, one which I regretted not moments later. I would love to tell you that I stormed in and shouted, "Molly! Enough is enough. What is your problem with me?", but I didn't. I am not so brave, or, to word this more appropriately, so foolish.

No, what happened was this.

As I snuck downstairs, in search of a strong shot of coffee, with a side shot of something stronger again, I heard a noise in the hallway.

E Gads! I thought, Molly is in the hallway. And so, with time honed skill, I apparated into the sitting room, where I could wait until Molly had moved elsewhere.

"Sirius!" I heard, and turned around, Molly was standing behind me. I have never felt such utter embarrassment in my life, "what on earth are you doing?"

"Avoiding you," I was forced to supply.

Molly scoffed, and took a sip of tea from her mug, "avoiding yourself," she corrected me. I looked shocked, and she raised an eyebrow, "well, honestly, Sirius, you're not worried about what _I_ think. You never have been."

This was true.

"That isn't true!" I said carefully.

Molly scoffed again. I took careful note of how tired she was looking, and felt a little worried on her behalf, "you sleeping alright, Molly?" I asked.

She sighed, "what do you think?"

I noticed then how much silver she had threaded through her hair. And then I wondered something; how much silver did _I_ have threaded through my hair? Lately I have been looking in the mirror and seeing myself aged 17 again, and then sometimes, a little older, with _her_ standing behind me, taunting me, calling me vain for spending so much time in front of the mirror. Absently, I wondered what I would see, were I to take a look now.

I sat down next to Molly, "Ginny looks exactly like you did." I told her honestly.

"Estelle looks exactly like _she_ did." Molly snapped back.

I winced.

"You never did listen to me. You never worried about what I thought," she was saying softly now, "honestly, Sirius, I think maybe you should have."

"What are you on about?" I asked heartily. It sounded ridiculous, "stop it, Molly. You're sounding like an alcoholic mother in one of those muggle shows. Where is the sweet, sensitive, periodically terrifying Molly I know?"

"I am sick of being motherly to you," Molly sighed, "I am not your mother, Sirius. I know lately I have been acting it. I suppose that's because I hoped that, though you never did listen to me as a friend, you might as a figure of authority."

"See that right there,' I said smiling, "is your problem. I don't deal with authority so well."

"Don't be charming," Molly told me tiredly, "you don't _feel_ charming, I know. I _know_, Sirius."

I supposed perhaps she did.

"So," I tried, quietly, sensibly, "what makes you think I don't listen to you?"

"I thought you loved Bellatrix,"

I frowned, trying not to show how disturbed I was by that thought, "doesn't that mean that _you_ don't listen to _me_?"

"I told you that _she_ wouldn't be good for you," Molly continued, oblivious, "as soon as I saw you two together, I saw that you wouldn't do well. Passion will only ever get you so far, Sirius Black."

No longer amused, I leant back, looking across at the family portrait on the wall opposite me. In it, my mother rested a hand on my brother's shoulder, while my father stood behind them, gazing sombrely out. I was there two, clawing at the hole where my face had been before my mother had blown it off.

"Passion has always been enough for me." I told her, "maybe I should leave."

"No! Sirius," Molly sighed again, tugging me back down, "I'm sorry, I am. I suppose, in a way, I'm just a little angry at her."

This confused me, "at _her_? Why?"

Molly closed her eyes, "because I thought that now, with you free to start again, and her gone, you could move on. But she left you something which makes that impossible."

"My daughter," I said slowly, "is not a 'something'. Estelle is not a 'something'." I closed my eyes, not wanting to look at the portrait any more, "and besides, I wouldn't ever have gotten over her anyway. I never could stand her when she was around, but as soon as she left….every day, in Azkaban, I dreamed about her. I dreamt about her, not in a good way. I dreamt of her crying about Lily and James, cursing me for a traitor and a coward. I dreamt of her…..marrying. Marrying a man who wasn't me." I took a very deep breath, "when I got out, I went to our place. It was empty. Nothing. Some family rented it, I was told, but they had moved on. I thought it was her. I went after Pettigrew" I spat the name, "and I listened out for word of her. I heard nothing. Nothing til I met Remus again."

Molly breathed out through her teeth, and I grimaced.

"I couldn't work up the courage to ask him, at first, but my curiosity was far too great. I _like_ to be in the know. When I did ask, he told me what had happened," I wondered how long it would be before I couldn't say any more, but, I knew that I must finish somehow; Molly deserved that, "and I didn't feel _free_. I didn't feel as though my life could begin again. I felt _empty_. I felt alone. I readied myself for a lifetime of trying to forget her; forget her smile, the way her laugh sounded…."

"I remember meeting her," Molly whispered, "I knew you wouldn't work out. Like cats and dogs, don't _smile_, Sirius, I'm not joking. Never seen so much love and hate mixed up into one. Not til I saw the two of you together. You were like a bloody lightning storm; sometimes people just watched you, thinking 'how lovely'. And then sometimes everybody ducked and ran for cover."

"Myself included," I said with a smile. We were quiet for a moment, "a lightning storm," I mused finally, "I like that. That fits us well."

"You're glad about the girl, aren't you?" Molly asked then, "you're glad she didn't get rid of the child."

"I thought she would," I shrugged, "but I suppose she liked to be contrary."

Molly shook her head, "_I _think that she knew that the two of you couldn't live together without killing each other. I think she knew she would have to leave, but she wanted to take a piece of you with her."

"Thank you, Molly," I said slowly, "I like that idea."

Molly smiled tiredly at me, "you know, when I first met her, I looked her up and down and thought 'strumpet'. I didn't know what she was doing in the order, I thought she was a faze."

"Ha." I said sarcastically.

"Well, she met my gaze right back and said, 'I know you don't approve of me. Nobody does, you see. But I don't really care, you understand?' then she sauntered off, and when she turned around again, she said, 'perhaps you and Remus and the Longbottoms can start a club. Maybe sign a petition. I'm sure my family would be more than happy to join anything like that'."

I laughed, "did she? I didn't realise. It does sound like her, though."

Just then I felt a pang of longing through my entire body so fierce and deep that I shuddered, squeezing my eyes shut. Her face was imprinted on my eyelids. I knew I wouldn't escape her. There was something warm on my arm, I could feel it, and that alone brought me back to the present, and the ghost of her laugh died slowly away, while Molly put her arm around me, and, despite earlier intentions, hugged me just as she would one of her own sons.

I forbade myself to cry, but stared across the room, at that portrait again, hoping to blot her image away from my mind, if only for a moment, one lucid moment.

"When Harry said her name, not even a year ago," I whispered, "I felt nothing but relief. Not because I wanted her to be mine, not even because I had a daughter. It was only because I knew then that there was a part of her still walking this earth, I wouldn't have cared if she were Malfoy's daughter, even. But when I knew she was mine…" I closed my eyes, "I felt so proud, so warm. Because I knew that, even after every single person who knew either of us was dead, there would still be some proof on this earth, that she and I had lived and loved each other."

I felt drained after that speech, and I think Molly knew it. we just sat there for a while afterwards, you see, until the clock struck six, and Arthur came through the door.

Then both of us stood and walked out, as though nothing had happened at all.

….

"My, god, Sirius" James whispered, looking almost angry, "can you still not tell the difference between someone reaching out to you as a lover and someone reaching out to you as a _friend_?"

He'd cornered me after breakfast, and, with his selectively keen mind, had pieced together what had really happened last night from my convoluted story, Lily's news and a general knowledge of both Lee's and my personality.

I felt my hackles raise, "James, she asked me to spend the weekend with her….in _France_."

"At her mother's funeral! Oh, come on, Sirius, she needed you."

I had no response to that. Obviously, she needed me, but Annika needed me, too.

I tried again, "listen, James. You weren't there. She was all over me! I mean, obviously she'd suffered a loss, but you'd think that she would exercise a bit more self control!"

"Oh, come off it." he snapped, "you and I both know that this is a load of bollocks! I mean, honestly, Sirius, she's been distant for weeks. She's _over_ you."

I sniffed, "doubt it."

The look James next saddled me with was a little bit too understanding for my liking, "Sirius," he said slowly, as though I were a babe in arms, "please tell me you're not deluding yourself into thinking she was coming on to you because your pride has been wounded by her lack of interest?"

"That," I answered shortly, "was a very long sentence."

"Oh god," James muttered blearily.

"And she hasn't lost interest at all," I tried again, lamely, "honestly, James, if you'd seen her….."

"Do not," he snapped, "make some joke here, Sirius. I actually like Lee. I think she's great. And I also think that it isn't fair for you to make fun of her because you feel rejected."

I was shocked, "James!" I exclaimed, "seriously, I thought she was coming on to me."

"You think everybody who asks anything of you is coming on to you," James snapped, "if said I needed you, and I missed you, would you think I was coming on to you?"

I considered, "well, the 'miss you' bit is a little suspicious….oh come on, James, don't be such a pansy. Of course I wouldn't think that."

He was quiet, "but you would if Lily said that, wouldn't you," he whispered.

I thought about this. Lily. I thought of long red hair, and laughing green eyes. I thought of gentle hands and a teasing smile. I thought of kisses in the corridor.

And _then_ I thought of secret smiles, shared amusement at James' antics, even after they were together. And I thought of the slightly triumphant feeling in my gut whenever she smiled at me.

If _she_ asked for my help, I would hear another question.

"Yes," I answered honestly, "yes I would."

I waited for anger, or for some quip about how arrogant I was. James did not supply.

"My god, Sirius," he whispered, "you are seriously screwed in the head."

I frowned, "what?"

"I mean it! Pick a girl, any girl, and she's in love with Sirius Black, that's what you think, isn't it? that's what you reckon."

We stared at each other, both furious at what the other said and felt. I'm not sure how long we stayed like that, or how long we would have, neither of us willing to move any further into 'fight' territory, but Peeves rescued us, zooming past and tipping inkwells all over us, cackling horribly. and, mysterious somebody, when you count _that_ as a rescue, there is something wrong with your mind.

"Oh, here," I snapped, watching James fumble with his wand. I siphoned the ink off easily, "let me."

"Thanks," James snapped back. Then he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, smudging ink all over his face, "Sirius, I'm sorry."

"Same," I grunted, and he grinned.

"yeah, so I see." He thumped his head back against the wall, "but really, mate, don't you think that you treated Lee a little harshly?"

"No," I insisted sullenly, "she had no right to compromise me like that."

"Oh, sod off," James grinned, "Sirius? She _needed_ you. This time you weren't strong enough to help her,"

"Ok, ok," I rolled my eyes, "point taken."

"It hasn't been made yet!" James exclaimed, "the point is, next time, don't let her down. She really deserves better, for all the stuff she puts up with from you."

….

James was right. I felt terribly guilty for having left Lee to fend for herself. His words had left a rather dramatised and depressing scene imprinted onto my mind.

In it, Lee was surrounded by tall, grave and cruel looking men and women, all of whom stared down at her with malice beyond belief, before, with a unified cry both inhuman and horrifying, they swept down on her, hands curved like claws, blocking her from my view.

Later, this was replaced by a rather more ridiculous picture. Lee; chained and gagged, with tears running down her face, in a dungeon, while a male voice proclaimed in heavily accented English that she would never return to "Eeengland" again.

Finally, an imperiurised Lee was led up the aisle by a rather cruel looking man, and her hand placed in that of an old, lecherous wizard, who wiped his hands furiously on his dirty trousers before shoving a ring on her finger and leering "give grandpa a kiss,".

Inexplicably, his English was not accented. More inexplicable, however, is that these figments of my imagination were speaking English at all.

In any case, I was wracked with guilt. So much so that I had developed a plan, a brilliant and unexpected compromise between Annika and myself and Lee.

See now, I couldn't very well live with Lee and yet expect Annika to be happy about it, I decided. Really, it had been foolish of me, and naïve of Lee to believe such a thing possible.

Some smallish part of me still suspected that Lee had been fully aware of how Annika would take it. But, that same part was undecided as to _why_ she had chosen to go along with it. Was it to sabotage my relationship with Annika, or because she truly had no other choice? I was unsure. Still, in the grand scheme of things I supposed it was unimportant.

Perhaps I wouldn't have worried about Lee so much if she had come home sooner. But the two days of the funeral turned into three, then four, and soon I was fretting like a mother hen. Nothing, admittedly, compared to Lily, who was beside herself with worry and sympathetic grief. She was so confused as to why Lee hadn't written to her. Had Annika been less of an extension of my arm, I would have explained that Lee did not enjoy sharing her feelings. Not with anybody. She would not write to Lily, or anybody, until she felt fully in control.

I told James to tell Lily. Annika would have wanted to know how I knew that.

But, even as I heard him haltingly explain it, constantly frowning as he tried to remember my exact words, I realised that Lee had trusted somebody enough to let them see her at her worst; me. She had been willing to let me comfort her, which _nobody_ was allowed to do, but I had rejected her.

I wondered, rather confusedly, whether that would mean her behaviour towards me would change. I prepared myself for rages and sulks.

But then four days became five became six days, and I stopped stressing. I had Annika to calm me down, while Lily frantically searched for an address, any address, through which she could send Lee a supportive letter.

But Dumbledore refused to provide her with one, and she could find no reference to the Dahlquist ancestral home, or Lee's mother's home. It was like they lived in another world.

Sort of like my family.

And still, Lily tried.

Via James, I suggested that perhaps Lee would rather be alone. Via James I discovered that in Lily's opinion, Lee would get enough of being alone within her family.

Also, via James was conveyed the message, for me, that just because I would handle a problem one way, didn't make it the way the person in trouble wanted it to be handled.

She had a point, although I was furious with James for somehow letting her know that _I_ was behind the helpful insights. He denied it. He claimed Lily was just very intuitive, and knew that he, James, was not.

"As if I would think of that stuff," he snorted as I complained. He had a point. I should have gotten Remus to be my messenger.

Whatever, I sighed to myself, it didn't matter anyway. Lee would come back in a terrible mood, and I would either grovel or pretend nothing had ever happened, depending on how she greeted me.

I began to regard the day with apprehension and fear, which dulled as six days became seven and seven became eight.

Eventually, after over a week of waiting and fretting, I had reached a decision: Lee and I would still live together, she needed a house, but I would spend the nights at James'. Or at least, that's what Annika would think. _She _would be told that while we lived together, Lee and I were nothing but friends (an opinion strengthened by my rejection of her) and that because James' parents missed me, I would spend every second week with them. Also, I decided, Lee would have to come up with a boyfriend. It couldn't take long, judging by the way men salivated all over her.

_That_ thought landed me in a funk so severe that I almost hexed a sixth year who remarked on how he hadn't seen Lee in a while.

I kicked myself for being possessive and finalised the lease with the landlord; Lee and I would live together. As friends and friends alone. Any complications and James assured me he and his parents would be more than willing to put me up for a while. They were quite used to it after all.

Then, not long after I'd finished my careful planning and arrangements, which were, I suppose, a sort of conciliatory gesture to Lee, the long awaited day finally arrived.

….

Lee returned to Hogwarts with little to no fanfare.

I personally was not aware of her presence at all. Not until I came downstairs that morning.

Lily, for some reason, had gone down to breakfast infinitely earlier than a human being was meant to, and so James and I, on this particular day, felt fully at leisure, able to dawdle down to the great hall, talking like men and acting like men.

James even attempted to enter into a farting competition, an idea which filled me with disgust, and even spurred me into chastising him.

"If you continue to suppress your masculine side," I informed him seriously, "you _will_ end up with these bizarre periods of guy-ness, where you will feel compelled to act like a, well, a boy. More so than you should. More so than _anyone_ should."

James, still with his finger outstretched, hopeful for a pull on my part, looked crestfallen, "so, no farting?" he asked.

A group of passing 6th years broke into giggles and scurried off.

"No," I told him sternly as we passed through the huge doors leading to the great hall, "if you even offer again, I will…why is everybody gathered around the table?"

It was true, everybody _was _gathered around the table. Frowning, James and I strolled along, not wanting to appear too eager.

It was an odd feeling. Around us, the crowd parted like the red sea, making way so that suddenly, Lily was in our line of vision, beaming happily, and beside her….

"Lee!" James laughed, running up to her, "what a surprise? Allergic to giving anybody notice, are you?"

Lee, looking radiant in her nonchalance, smiled languidly, "no, mon cher, only you." She looked good. As usual, she wearing the very opposite of regulation uniform. Her socks were knee high, stripy and mismatched. Her shoes were scuffed, but painted to look like the night sky, complete with stars which were enchanted to twinkle, and clouds which moved across them every now and then. Her robes fell to mid thigh, trimmed with green lace, and she was wearing a messy Slytherin bowtie instead of our regulation tie.

From by my side, Peter leaned over and whispered. "Look at her shoes- those don't look like what you'd wear in mourning….."

"You should see my underwear." Lee's voice cut across his, clear and sharp. She was smiling dangerously. Peter turned bright red, looking confused, and Lily raised an eyebrow. "They match." Lee said, by way of explanation.

"We almost _can_ see your underwear." Peter muttered. Remus shot him a dark look.

Everybody else remained oblivious.

James grinned, "well, well," he said, shaking his head. "with you reclining there like a bloody French princess, I think I just _have_ to kiss your hand, don't I?"

Lee raised an eyebrow in Lily's direction, but her friend just shrugged, and so she extended a graceful hand, which James kissed.

"en' chante," he murmured, his accent atrocious. I waited for Lee to pick him up on it, but she didn't.

Instead, she put on her best English accent and primly announced, "delighted."

James laughed and swept her into a hug. Moving closer, I was surprised to hear him whisper, "how are you holding up? Alright?"

She nodded with a slightly sad smile on her face, "I always am".

And what was _I_ doing during this time, mysterious somebody, while James played the role generally assigned to boyfriend, or at least romantic interest, or more likely, best friend?

I was standing close behind him, hands in pockets, trying not to look sullen.

Failing dismally, I fear. I was finding the whole situation above and beyond awkward, especially as Lee appeared fully in control of herself, not a quivering lip in sight.

I was a master at comforting girls. Always have been, always will be. But Lee wasn't tearful, or sulky, or silent. She was her usual charming self. If you had missed the past few days, you would have assumed that she had just come back from a holiday, rather than a funeral. Unless, of course, you looked closely, and saw that she'd lost weight, or that the skin around her eyes was slightly red looking.

So, how was I to behave? I couldn't very well be apologetic without coming off looking like either a complete jerk, giving too little too late, or a sexist, who just assumed that his refusal would give Lee some sort of complex, on account of her weak, feminine ways.

I was, as you can see, not thinking about Lee's feelings so much as my own reputation, which nonetheless demanded, I reasoned, some action on my part to resolve the situation.

Lee came to my rescue.

"Black," she said cordially, "I trust you 'ave been well."

Nobody noticed anything amiss. Not even Lily, who seemed simply happy to have her friend back. But James met my eyes over her head and winced, and I knew why.

It had been an age since Lee had spoken to me like that. Not, I thought dumbly, since we had first sat detention together, the year before.

Xxxxx

Once more- if you like this, please review!


	19. Chapter 19

I dreamt last night, mysterious somebody.

In my dream, I was 21 again, sitting at the table with Remus, taking a rare free moment to indulge in a coffee, when suddenly a patronous burst through into the room, padding around the table on delicate paws, opening it's fanged mouth to say;

"Sirius! James needs you- Saint Mungo's, he's-"

And then it flickered and died.

Remus and I looked at each other for a long, still moment. And then it was a mad rush to get to our feet and then get out of there. We scrambled up, Remus loping off to the lounge to grab our cloaks, while I grabbed fistfulls of floo powers, hurling them into the fireplace as though the more I threw in, the faster we'd get there.

After what felt like a year, we stumbled out into the foyer of Saint Mungo's, covered in soot and wild-eyed with worry.

"There, Sirius." Remus said, voice hoarse from the smoke. He pointed to a reception desk, not too far off, manned by a young, bored looking which, polishing her nails. I clapped Remus on the shoulder and we rushed towards it.

The witch didn't look up as we arrived, merely sighed and continued to primp. Frustrated, I pushed my hair out of my eyes and smashed my hand down onto the bell on the desk. Repeatedly.

I knew what Remus was thinking as he stood calmly by my side, clearly itching to hold my hand down; James hadn't been on duty that night, how on earth had he managed to get himself injured?

But James had always had a talent for getting himself into those sorts of situations. I had absolute faith in his ability to find trouble, and it made my heart thump faster with fear.

Finally, the witch showed signs of life. "What?" she sighed, as though our presence inconvenienced her to the point of tears.

"Potter." I snapped at the her, and she frowned.

"Excuse me, I'm-" she looked up and met my stony gaze. "Oh," she murmured appreciatively, her eyes travelling up and down my body. With a calculating smile, she rested her chin on her hands.

"Potter," I snarled again, 'dinging' the bell once more for effect. "James Potter."

"Good to meet you," she simpered, extending a freshly manicured hand. "Jamie. Jamie Cricklesby."

"Did I ask for your name?" I demanded, wanting nothing more than to pick up the bell and throw it at her head.

Remus, apparently knowing me all too well, quickly pulled the bell out of harm's way. "Sirius, be nice," he murmured before turning back to Jamie. "We're looking for a patient here, a Mr James Potter."

Jamie fluttered her eyelashes. "Let me have a look," she lazily waved a hand and a file appeared out of mid air. Her other hand rested on the table, a nail file working away at her fingers by itself. Impatient, I rapped my knuckles against the counter. Remus didn't stop me- he was too busy tying his handkerchief in knots. "There isn't a James Potter here tonight," she told us finally, winking at me.

I started to growl, and Remus put a hand on my arm. "Calm down, Sirius," he snapped, then to the girl, "are you quite sure about that?"

She nodded, checking the file again. "We _do_ have a Potter down in Maternity-"

"Sirius? Remus! What are you still doing here?" We turned around and _she_ was behind us, hands on hips, tossing her hair and looking furious. "The baby was born half an hour ago!" I gaped at her, waiting for the shock to leave my system. Impatient, she sighed. "I suppose you could wait here- his first birthday will come around soon, after all. Make an appearance _then_."

I shot her a glare, but Remus gave a relieved laugh, and her only reaction was to spin on her heel and walk away. We trooped upstairs, following her into the room, where Lily was lying on the bed, smiling down at a little bundle in her arms. She looked tired, but very happy. When she saw us, she beamed, and put a finger to her mouth.

"Shh," she whispered. "He's sleeping."

I thought she was talking about the baby, until I heard a massive snore from the corner of the room. James was sprawled out in an armchair, glasses askew, head tipped back and drooling like an infant. I sighed and plucked the glasses from his nose. "You would think _he_ had the baby…." I muttered, and Lily put a hand over her mouth.

"Would you like to hold him?" she asked quietly, and I agreed, reluctantly. If _she_ hadn't been looking at me reprovingly, I would have refused in an instant. "So," I said jovially, "little red headed, green eyed girl with glasses?"

"Not quite," Lily grinned.

"No, they don't make glasses quite that small," _she_ said, smiling. "They would fall right off of Harry's face."

"Harry?" I demanded, amazed. "Harry as in _male_ Harry?" They nodded, I swore. "How am I supposed to seduce James' daughter if it is a _son_?" I moaned.

_She_ laughed. "Give it a try anyway," she suggested.

Lily grinned. "Don't you dare!"

I looked down. Harry was wrinkly and red, with tufts of black hair. "God, the poor thing," I muttered. "You can see who he takes after; already his hair won't stay flat."

Lily laughed, Remus laughed, and James sat bolt upright, yelping in shock, clutching at his chair arms.

"Lily?" he demanded, confused, then glared blearily at me through crooked glasses, "Sirius? Remus?" and then, perhaps voiced with the most confusion and trepidation of all as his eyes fell on my arms: "Baby."

And we all laughed, and I met _her_ eyes over Remus' head, and, graceful as she always was, she glided around him like he wasn't there, and loped over to my side. I put an arm around her waist, and she rested her head on my shoulder, and her arm curled protectively around her stomach, and we watched James smile at baby Harry, now foisted onto Remus. _She_ smiled a strange sort of smile, secretive and full of something (anticipation?).

After that, the dream changed very quickly. Suddenly, I wasn't looking at her anymore. Instead, I could see nothing, and then suddenly, I could hear raucous laughter, and I was startled out of sleep.

James, Lily and Remus were smiling at me, and as their eyes went over me, they began to laugh even more but one laugh, slightly tired stood out from the others. Lilting, somehow just slightly edged with fond contempt.

I turned, and there _she_ was, lying in bed, eyes tired but happy, arms around a small bundle, which wriggled in her grasp. In a daze, I wandered over to her, noticing as I did the small child Lily held firmly, with James' hair sticking up in a bird's nest on top of his head. As I watched, he gurgled and reached out a pudgy hand; he couldn't have been a year old yet.

And then I looked back to _her_. She hadn't really seen me yet; she was looking down at the baby in her arms, with this oddly mystified expression, full of wonder and disbelief, as though she was looking at something strange, unnatural, but still rather lovely. She looked confused, and at a loss; a rare expression to find on her face to be sure, but still happy. I had never seen anything more beautiful. And just then, as I thought that, she looked up at me and smiled a smile that I have missed over the years. Just slightly derogatory, exasperated, but to somebody who knew her, the look in her eyes was full of something so indefinable and wonderful that my heart almost burst.

I placed a hand on her head, and felt as though I was at home, an she leaned her face into my palm. And then, smiling at her, I looked down at the baby she held.

You.

You were wrapped up snugly in a little blue blanket, which was admittedly odd- they usually wrap babies in blue, I think- but then, it was a dream. You had a thatch of blonde hair, curling slightly on your head. One tiny hand reached out, clutching at your mother's finger. You were perfect. But when I looked down, you had no face; just a pale pink blur with nothing at all to define it. No matter how hard I squinted and stared, no features formed; you were faceless. I looked up at your mother, and she smiled at me, looking back down, but I forced a smile and looked away. I still could not see your face, no matter how hard I tried.

And then we were in another room with photos all over the wall in which a faceless child played with other children, petted a dog, rode a horse. Memories lined the walls, all vague and indistinct, and I looked around me, confused and wondering where your mother was, because it was _she_ I wanted to talk to, but she seemed to have disappeared. And around me the room was spinning very fast, while I dizzily tried to keep up with your progress from glimpses of scenarios and inference, but to no avail; I was lost.

And then, thankfully, I woke.

I suppose you've figured out that the first part of my dream was a memory. A good memory, in many ways, sadly half forgotten by me. But obviously it stayed in my mind for a while, hiding in the back, somewhere. And I would hazard a guess that it was _you_ who brought it out.

You know how just before you fall asleep, the tiniest, most random spark of thought in your mind morphs itself into what you will dream about? So it was. I must have been thinking about you and your mother, and how you managed alone, and that led me on to James and Lily when Harry was born, which was all just a lead up to the crux of it all; why wasn't I there when you were born?

Because I wasn't. Your mother must've been alone, just her and the midwife, or whatever. Who knows, she may even have birthed you in the muggle world, just to avoid detection. I'm not sure, and I doubt that I will ever know, especially as even you wouldn't have a clue. You were much too young.

I suppose it is largely unimportant, really. Where you were born, how, when- these are trifling details. I can just about work out the month, unless you were early or late- which I doubt- and so when February came this year, I raised a glass of mead to your health, and visualised what I would have given you as a present.

A broom, perhaps? Do you like quidditch? I'm not even sure. Perhaps just a handful of money and a vague caution to be careful, and not to tell your mother.

But this manuscript, perhaps, would suffice. I don't really know all that much about you, so I could hardly walk into a store and select something.

To be brutally honest, I couldn't really walk into a store at all, without provoking a great deal of alarm amongst the clientele and the employees.

Anyway. This morning, when I went downstairs, Remus was there. I hadn't seen him in a while, and so I sat down beside him without saying a word. Later, when I told him about my dream, I turned to him curiously.

"Did you know she was pregnant?" I asked, surprised at how easily the words came to me when once they would barely form in my mouth. Remus didn't look away from me as he solemnly nodded. Of course he knew, I swore at myself in frustration- he was always so much more perceptive than me. "Yet you didn't tell me?" I asked quietly.

He shrugged. "I figured it was _her_ news to share."

There was a long pause in between our next words.

"Were you jealous?" I was shocked I'd asked the question, to be frank. Remus seemed shocked, too.

There was a _huge_ pause before he answered.

"Yes." He said simply. "Yes, I was."

The silence wasn't awkward then, but companionable. Still, after a while, I couldn't stand it anymore, and just blurted out what was in my mind, what had always been in my mind.

"It should've been you." I told him.

He didn't bother contradicting me. Remus doesn't like lies much.

….

It actually took me a surprisingly long time to crack. I sat through several weeks of classes with Lee, ones where we had sat next to each other, sharing notes and jokes about the professors, flirting, sometimes.

Not that _that_ was anything more than a happy memory. Lee had never had any shortage of friends, and she seemed to have arranged hundreds of ways of avoiding me in class.

The first lesson we had together after she got back was Defence Against the Dark Arts, a subject which Lee had abruptly shifted to at the beginning of the year (something I liked to attribute to my own influence over her). I had been dreading it all morning, waiting to see her without James by my side. _He_ constantly spent DADA whispering sweet nothings into Lily's ear, while I had always sat by Lee.

So, despite its ruinous affect on my devil-may-care reputation, I arrived at class exactly on time (early, even) and took my usual seat almost eagerly, waiting for Lee.

She appeared, and all my thoughts of that morning increased ten fold. She was tired. She was worn. She was emotionally wounded. She reminded me of a battered wife, minus the bruises. I watched her. Under my gaze, she laughed at a joke, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and smiled at a friend. Under my gaze, she walked straight passed me, without so much as a nod.

I watched in mute shock as she strolled over to Alice's desk and dragged a chair across, sitting on it backwards, smiling in greeting. Alice nodded, not at all shyly, and they began to talk. About what, you may ask. I wanted to know the same bloody thing! In my eyes, I had debased myself for Lee, arriving early, earning a delighted look from the professor….and she wouldn't even talk to me?

_Playing hard to get_ I decided, and, as nonchalantly as I possibly could, I strolled over to her desk. She was gasping at some piece of news, one hand over her mouth in mock horror.

"No!" she whispered, "he would never be so brave!"

Alice was nodding happily, stifling a giggle, and another girl I did not know (plain little thing, she was, too.) grinned like an idiot.

Now, from experience you will know that there are many ways to get a girl's attention. A man can clear his throat, or cough slightly. He might sigh, yawn, or even simply join in the conversation.

_I_ would never stoop to such levels. My presence alone was tangible, and two thirds of the group looked up at me, flushing slightly.

"Hey, Sirius," Alice ventured, pink cheeked. I vaguely remembered a night by the lake, laced with promise.

"Alice," I smiled, making it a very languid and caressing smile, one to make a girl shiver, "do you mind if I steal into your gossip for a moment?"

"You were already there," the plain girl announced, smirking, "_everybody_ gossips about you."

I raised an eyebrow, "Lee?" I asked, seeking to at least get her to acknowledge me. "Is this true?"

I should really have known better.

That was what I told myself, watching Lee look up and meet my eyes. I should have known better, she'll twist this around until it's an insult.

She shrugged. "No. We were talking of something else."

I froze, waiting for the punch line, the witty poke of her sarcastic sword. It didn't come. Were I anything less than a professional, I probably would have been unnerved.

But I was practiced, and so merely smiled charmingly, "must have been a boring conversation," I told her, and almost hit myself. I sounded like a stranger, I was talking to Lee like she was just another girl to screw. I felt a pang of guilt, "so, I've been keeping your seat warm for you? Coming over anytime soon?"

This last was said completely guilelessly. I meant it. I _wanted_ her to come and sit next to me.

Lee's eyes darkened every so slightly, and narrowed a little, like a cat's. She tossed her hair off her face, ever so gently, and, keeping the speculative and cold expression in her eyes, smiled and said, "not today. Alice and I have business to discuss."

I didn't ask again. Not for weeks.

I was, as you can imagine, utterly at a loss. What male can understand the complex mind of a woman, so completely unpredictable and random? I spoke 'girl' more fluently than most, though, and this, combined with an innate knowledge of Lee, helped me to see what was happening.

Lee was _not_ angry with me. I had been prepared for that, ready and waiting, with hundreds of possible comebacks whizzing around my head. I had thought she would be sullen, perhaps. I had decided to apologize. I hadn't been thrown off by her seeming reversion to barely civil relations at breakfast; it was just another way of flirting.

But, the more I considered it, the more I saw that Lee and I had been becoming distant since the end of the holidays. She went from being so close to me that she was like a female extension of myself, to being a good friend, one I trusted, to an indifferent acquaintance, not at all interested in me.

I wasn't quite sure how to handle that.

In fact, for the most part I didn't have to. Lily, James and Lee got along perfectly. Had you asked, I would have told you that the rapport between Lee and I was absolutely essential for the dynamics of the group. But it seemed I was wrong. It all worked perfectly well. Remus and I spent a great deal of time together, with Lee spiriting between us and Lily and James, or even her other friends. I always felt an inexplicable surge of jealously when I caught sight of Lee with any other group of boys.

Inexplicable because I was truly, very in love with Annika. Or so I told people when asked- as I often was, so unusual was it for me to be monogamous.

Inexplicable also because Lee was really doing nothing at all. No matter how much her admirers pressed, she went on no dates, snogged nobody. It caused almost as many rumours as her promiscuity had, most of them involving me, which irked Annika immensely. It was an awkward time for us all, involving many long silences, snapped remarks, bitter glares and snide comments. Everybody felt the strain.

Except, I should say, Lee.

Lee seemed to breeze through the entire, ridiculous situation with nary a care. She talked to everybody; a sardonic breeze of fresh air, obliterating the awkwardness. Except, I should say, when it came to me.

I was little more than an acquaintance to Lee now. When she saw me, she would nod in greeting, maybe smile a little, and then promptly turn away.

With everybody else, she was just fine. No issue at all, not even slightly awkward. It was I and I alone who instigated her wrath. It might have been a small conflict, you may think, but, because both Lee and I were such dominant personalities, it was anything but small. The whole gang felt it

I suppose there was one other person who did not get along with Lee. Annika's anger had only doubled. She was not placated by my constant displays of loyalty, oh no. Rather, she now felt she had the right to gloat her victory before Lee, as though there had been some sort of contest and Lee had lost.

To her credit, Lee was unaffected. She seemed not to notice Annika's very strident physical affection for me, wasn't bothered by the snide looks and snarky comments. Somehow, this made Annika feel even more wronged. I have said it before; I do not understand women. I did understand this, though. What Annika was after, what she was seeking, was a reaction. She wanted a surrender from Lee, a full blown declaration of submission. Nothing less would suffice.

This, as you may guess, was the cause of quite a bit of gossip, and even more conflict.

It didn't really bother me. I was more concerned about my own considerable guilt. James' words spun around and around in my mind, and I was forced to ask myself why I hadn't apologised yet.

It most likely had something to do with the fact that I knew that, as soon as Lee had me to herself, and the issue brought up again, she would let loose, and rip into me with her talons.

Eventually, I gave in to myself. I set an ultimatum; an apology by the end of the week. Ironically, fate must have been listening, because just as I told myself this, Lee walked around the corner, completely alone.

Seizing the moment, I reached out and grabbed her arm, dragging her into the small alley I was standing in at the time (please don't ask me why I was there; it is a very long story), and, before I could lose my cool, basically screamed my apology at her, and waited for all hell to break loose.

It didn't.

She smiled, "don't worry, Sirius," she said calmly, "of course I understand. What would Annika have thought?"

I frowned slightly, more than a little confused with this bizarre turn of events. "It doesn't matter what she would have thought! You needed me, as a friend, and I would have gone with you, as a friend."

"But Annika wouldn't have known it was 'as friends'" Lee pointed out quickly.

It is a strange feeling, having one's own arguments used against oneself.

"Yeah," I admitted. "But it wasn't about Annika, it was about _you_."

"Don't be naïve, Sirius," Lee frowned quizzically. "You can't just separate your life into sections and turn off the parts that you aren't using."

I opened my mouth to reply, and then closed it. That, I realized, was a very good point. Wistfully, I chastised myself for not thinking of it earlier on; it would have left James stumped. Luckily, I was extremely brilliant when it came to rhetoric.

"No," I told her, "but you can put them in order of priority, and you should have come higher up the list."

Lee snorted (she remains, to this day, the only woman I have ever known, who could snort while maintaining her dignity and sexiness), "please! The sometimes-friend coming above the glamorous and beautiful girlfriend? I don't believe it."

"Believe it," I whispered, stepping up close to her. "Believe it, Lee, you're not the 'sometimes-friend'. You're different than a friend. You know me as well as I know myself."

"I don't know you at all," she hissed, and I felt gratified to have broken through her polite façade.

"You _do_. You're closer to me than anyone, you are, Lee. You _are_." The last sentence wasn't 'said' so much as 'breathed'. I felt Lee's shuddering intake of breath against my chest, and only then did I realize how close we were standing.

I was pressed up against her, as close as lovers, though my hands, and her hands, rested by our sides. Our faces were inches apart, less, maybe. My knee had somehow moved (instinctively?) between her legs, and my other leg pressed against her own. Anybody walking past would have assumed we'd only just stopped kissing, but we hadn't started. Instead we were simply looking at each other. I won't say 'gazing into each other's eyes' or anything so ridiculous. We were simply 'looking' at each other, and simple as that may sound, if was much deeper, much more profound than any kiss I have ever shared with anybody.

You know how when somebody looks at you, you can see their eyes darting all over your face, trying to take every detail in? Well, Lee's eyes weren't doing that; they didn't even move from my own, just as my eyes didn't move from hers.

Had anybody asked me before that what Lee's best feature would have been, my answer would have varied over time.

When we first met, I would have answered that the fact that there was only one of her was her best feature.

When we began dating, I would have told you that it was her hair, so soft and luxurious.

When we ceased to date, I would have immediately decreed her body her best feature, a statement followed by a series of thrusting movements, met with cheers by my friends.

When we became friends, I would have said her smile, or more specifically, that one dimple in her cheek which appeared when she was amused.

And then, as I stared at her, I realized it was her eyes. From a distance they almost looked black, but when the light shone, you could pick out the blue in them. They were like a solid ball of blue black glass; only in the light could you see that vague sort of aura of blue.

Like ink, I decided. Blue ink, and with those beautiful long lashes, dark blonde and thick. And the way that her eyebrows swept across her brow, and the way the corners of her eyelids were pulled ever so slightly down.

Beautiful.

"Beautiful" I murmured, and suddenly, the moment broke for Lee. She looked away, not with her head, but with those eyes, and I knew that I had overstepped the boundaries. I moved back, desperately trying to recall what it was we had been speaking of.

"And, also," I continued smoothly, "you were the one who needed my help. Annika was fine."

Lee nodded, eyes on the ground. I wondered what she was thinking.

I wonder that to this day.

She looked up abruptly and met my gaze easily, smiling brightly, "well, thank you for your apology," she said. "It is appreciated."

I knew a dismissal when I heard one. Usually I shrugged them off, "oh, don't mention it."

Lee nodded, still smiling, and outstretched her hand.

Numb with confusion, I smiled back at her and took it, shaking it mutely.

"Goodbye!" she called, and then strode off, just slightly faster than was necessary.

I just watched her go.

I didn't really have much time to hang around, anyway, I told myself, trying to talk myself out of being disappointed at out lack of closure, the biggest party of the year was going to start in three hours, and I didn't even have a costume yet.

Mitch Jordan's Halloween party was the highlight of the social calendar that year. Naturally, everybody important, influential or even just quirky was invited, which made it one of the only social event to span the houses, hosting Hufflepuffs, Ravenclalws, Gryffindors and _some_ Slytherins. It was a _huge_ deal.

It was held in a special room, which we all referred to as 'The Room of Requirement'. James and I had often used it when we were on the run from teachers, and whenever I needed a private place for a snog, there it was. Ever changing, ever useful.

Perfect place for a huge party, especially when Mitch was so bloody good at manipulating the room. For instance, he had figured out how to get back inside the school to hold this party, even after having graduated a year before. Another thing? He really understood the room so much, that he could get it to do _anything, _thought admittedly he had been utterly unable to get it to produce any grog. A minor issue. He had posted James and I the invites a week before, which we distributed as we were able (with a few subtle omissions of those people we didn't like), snuck into the school that morning (thank our knowledge of the passages) carrying armloads of liquor. Some of it _muggle_ liquor.

Vodka, Absinthe, and tequila for instance, although he did say that we had to be careful with those.

After getting inside, he'd snuck up to the room, under James' cloak, and it prepared itself. It was ours for the whole night, and, further more, would only open for those whose names were on a list he had read out. A stroke of brilliance, in everybody's opinion.

Why did he bother, you may ask?

The answer; tradition. It is extremely important to all wizards, as you should well know by now, Estelle, so please, stop frowning. Mitch had begun having his parties back in second year, and continued til seventh. When he left, he vowed to write to me around 'the usual time' and we would do it again. When I left the school, the parties would cease, that was the deal.

His parties were always infinitely preferable to anybody else's, I'm not sure why. Perhaps his sense of style, or his flair? It is unimportant, I suppose, mostly irrelevant. All you need to know is that his parties were brilliant affairs, and that everybody was excited.

Suffice to say, when the day arrived, very few people attended last period. Or should I say, very few _girls_. James was disgusted. He was complaining to me about it as we walked up the stairs, headed for the party.

Apparently, he announced, Lily was not yet ready, despite skipping last period in preparation, which meant she'd had a grand total of five hours in which to get herself dressed.

I sympathized, myself being in a similar situation with Annika, who had disappeared at lunch and had yet to resurface.

"They'll meet us here," I assured him. "You'll see." But James was beyond comforting, and merely muttered angrily about the foolishness of females.

And then, we went inside.

I'm not sure if you've ever _been_ in the Room of Requirement, but it is an intensely odd feeling. Especially when you move from a silent corridor to a party in full swing. The music was horrifyingly loud, and there were no lights, save for in the corners and in alcoves around the room, where there were faintly glowing balls of light, covered by tent-like structures. These were designed for people who needed to talk, or maybe to do 'other' things. The rest of the room was devoted to drinking and dancing, with a huge range of alcoholic beverages on display, bewitched to be all different colours, in rainbow formation, and all glowing slightly. The affect achieved was a luminous rainbow swirl in the middle of the room. More rainbow lights floated around the ceiling area, swooping down to the dancers at different intervals, and darting around the crowds

It looked amazing.

But where, you may be wondering, is the Halloween theme?

It resided mostly in the 'dressing up' side of things. It was a costume party, to all purposes. With masks thrown in, for no discernable reason. Everybody had to wear a mask; it was part of the dress code. No mask, no entry.

A tenuous (not to mention _tedious_) Halloween connection at best.

As I walked in, it looked like most of the 'costume' side of things had disappeared as well, and everybody was simply wearing nice clothes with some little thing to point out their character.

For instance, when Mitch approached me, smiling, I saw that he had turned his canine teeth into fangs and stained the tips of them red.

"Sirius! Great to see you!"

"Mitch," I nodded in greeting. "The place is amazing."

He shrugged, still shouting over the music, which was some sort of modernised waltz, with muggle instruments thrown in. "Didn't take much to set it up. Looks like it will be fun, though, hey?" At that point, he remembered the theme of the party and looked James and I over, frowning. "What sort of cop-out costumes are you idiots wearing?" he bellowed.

James grinned. "Dead quidditch captain." He announced.

Mitch frowned. "That seems kind of like normal quidditch captain with the word 'dead' in front of it."

"Nah, it's completely different!" James assured him. "See?" he gestured to the rips in his clothes, and the slit he'd drawn across his neck in red, "I'm all messed up."

Mitch gave a sympathetic grimace. "True," he agreed. "You _are_ messed up." I laughed into my drink, and Mitch smiled. "By the way, those glasses do not count as a mask." James laughed and Mitch turned an amused gaze onto me. "What are you supposed to be, Sirius?"

I raised an eyebrow, "isn't it obvious?"

Mitch frowned, tilting his head to one side. "Uh, are you going as yourself?"

"Do I normally dress like this?" I demanded, while James snickered. "No, I am…" he waited, "Salazar Slytherin."

Mitch roared with laughter, finally taking in my medieval clothing, green and black, and my cape. "Idiot!" he laughed, "you'll start a fight with the Slytherins."

My lips curved into an evil little smile. "I cannot wait."

"You look good," Mitch told me grudgingly. "Kind of like….I don't know."

I _did_ look good. I had a black tunic on, with black pants and black boots, but with a green undershirt to send home the 'Slytherin' look. My cloak was black again, with silver and green embroidery. I also had a sword, which was more fun than you would've expected.

"Like Salazar Slytherin." I suggested, "I hope."

Mitch just laughed and walked off, shouting that we should enjoy ourselves. We waved him away and set out to find some drinks.

It was an hour later that Lily and Annika appeared, dressed as a swan and a snake, respectively.

James rolled his eyes when he saw them. "It's a Halloween party, not a zoo! Boo!" he heckled. But then Lily raised an eyebrow, and realization hit him. This was his girlfriend- he had a set response. "Oh, and you look beautiful."

She beamed. "Much better, darling," she smiled, kissing him on the cheek.

"I'm sorry, Lily flower, but how is a swan scary?" I asked, and Lily frowned.

"How is a fop scary?" she countered.

I gasped. "Fop? I am Salazar Slytherin! Not some fop!"

She shrugged. "If you say so." She frowned in distaste as somebody walked past with their head under their arm. It was, in my opinion, a very clever illusion. I can only suppose that the fake blood spurting from his neck offended her somehow.

I turned my attention to Annika, who looked remarkably sexy in a short, tight green dress, which shimmered like scales, with a matching mask, her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail for the occasion.

"We are supposed to match," I told her. She looked outraged.

"We _do_! I'm a snake!"

"How are you a snake?" I demanded. "_Really_, you're just wearing a green dress!"

"But it looks good, doesn't it?" she whispered. I grinned. She looked very nice.

James, by now, had taken up my case. "I seriously don't understand you girls." He announced. "You spend absolutely all day getting ready, and when you turn up, you're just wearing a dress, and that's it. I was expecting blood and gore, and wonderful spells!"

Lily frowned, "I thought I looked nice?"

She looked very pretty, with her white mask and her long white dress, and her wings. Her mask even had a bird-like look, and a sort of beak thing. I thought she'd done quite well, compared to Annika's effort.

I pointed this out and was literally booed into silence by the girls.

"You're not even drunk and you're already shouting at each other!" a voice called happily from behind us.

Smothering any feelings of awkwardness that afternoon might have raised, I turned around, prepared for breathtaking sexiness and beauty, as only Lee could deliver.

I was disappointed. She was wearing her quidditch robes, and they were grass stained and dirty. The colours and the cut of them definitely suited her, but she wasn't dressed up.

And by her side, looking horribly awkward and dressed identically, was Reg.

I gaped.

How had he even gotten in? I was sure Mitch hadn't put him on the list; he wasn't cool or suave, and we barely spoke. No, there was no way he'd been invited.

And there was only one person who would ever do this. Only one person who would so thoroughly disregard my feelings about my family. Only one person who was charming enough to convince a _magical room_ to go against its own bloody function.

Only one, very annoying, very charming, very frustrating person. And that person was…..

"Lee, gorgeous!" Mitch appeared out of nowhere, snaking his arm around her shoulders. "What the hell are you? And where's your mask?"

James caught my gaze and rolled his eyes. Mitch had an uncanny knack for knowing where the prettiest girls were at all times. James found this very irritating.

Lee grinned, "I?" she began. "I would never stoop so low as to _conform_ to rules!"

Mitch looked less than impressed. "What about _party_ rules?" Lee shrugged, and he tried again. "What about if we call them 'party _suggestions_'?" Lee threw her head back and laughed scornfully. Now Mitch looked annoyed. "How about we call them '_You'd better conform, Dahlquist, or I'll kick your gorgeous ass out' _suggestions?"

Well played, I thought.

"Tempter tantrum." Lee announced dismissively, tossing her head. "Very well. I am a….." she considered. "A dead quidditch player."

Mitch shook his head. "Not scary. Pathetic idea."

"Hey!" James protested loudly. Mitch looked vaguely apologetic.

"Ok, then, James has claimed that one." He amended. "Any other ideas?"

I just stood there, staring in shock at my brother. It was odd, because in the relative darkness, and dressed in quidditch robes, he looked insanely like me.

As I continued to gape at him, he met my gaze, flushing red and looking awkwardly away. I felt Annika tap my shoulder. "Your brother?" she asked. I nodded, and she frowned. "He sort of looks like you."

Reg looked, if anything, _more_ embarrassed now. As I watched, Lee's eyes darted over to him, and she sighed sharply. "Never mind what Reg looks like," she said easily, "the issue here is that Mitch is being a tyrant. I came straight from quidditch practice, where was I going to pull a costume from?"

Well, that at least explained Reg's presence. He'd probably let slip that he was going to mope about in his room all night, and she'd taken pity on him. Now that nobody was focusing on him, he relaxed a little. I noticed that while we spoke, Lee had placed her hand on his back comfortingly.

Mitch snorted, "who would schedule quidditch practice tonight? Everybody knows about this party."

"You didn't exactly invite a huge number of Slytherins, _mon cher_." Lee drawled, and Reg looked uncomfortable and angry again. "Give me a break!" She batted her eyelids a little. "You don't _really_ want me to leave, do you?"

Mitch shook his head. "No break. You knew the dress code."

Lee rolled her eyes. "Well, we must all bow to the party god." She bit a fingernail endearingly, apparently lost in thought. "Ok, well then how about for now, I can be a disheveled quidditch player, very much alive," she hastily added, nodding at James, "but I go over _there_ to one of those little alcoves, and change into something…what?" She rolled her eyes again at the look on Mitch's face. "Fine. You can choose for me."

Mitch grinned, "well, it just so happens that I know just the thing. And you brought a plus one, so you _owe_ me."

Lee gave a dramatic sigh of agreement, and Mitch leaned over, whispering his choice into her ear.

She listened intently for a moment, then her lips curved into a smile and she threw her head back, laughing loudly. "Fine." She said, giving him a look which was equal parts condescending and affectionate. "But I'll need a drink." She winked at him, shot us all a grin and a salute, and then loped off towards the alcoves. Mitch gave a gleeful little 'yippee', waggled his eyebrows at us, and followed her.

I tried to ignore the feeling in the pit of my stomach. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't _jealousy_.

"What do you think she'll be going as?" Annika sniggered, watching them leave. "A prostitute?"

James, feeling cheeky, I suppose, put in, "a French maid?"

"Shut up." Somebody snapped. I'd forgotten Reg was standing there. But he was, and glaring at us like we'd just stabbed his mother. "If anybody here is a whore, it's your girlfriend."

Annika gaped. "_Sirius_." She prompted.

Obligingly, I frowned at Reg. "That's a horrible thing to say to James." I snapped.

Lily cleared her throat awkwardly, and Reg laughed. "I'm not talking to _James_." He drawled before stomping off.

"You think Lily looks like a whore?" James asked, not angry so much as bemused.

"What? No! I didn't say that." I protested, flabbergasted. "That doesn't even make sense."

James grinned evilly. "You think that somebody _else_ could look at Lily and think she looks like a whore?"

"James." I growled, annoyed. "Stop being so annoying! Now that I think about it, of _course_ he was talking about Annika. It's obvious…"

"What is _that _supposed to mean?" Unlike James, Annika definitely _was_ angry.

Lily pursed her lips angrily, but said nothing. She merely glared at me, as though to say, 'this is _your_ fault', which it wasn't, but Lily was never completely logical, even at the best of times.

But, fault or no, I knew how to defuse the situation.

I smiled charmingly, sliding over to Annika and slipping an arm around her waist. "You look _stunning_." I told her. "And Reg is clearly jealous." She smiled a little, and I felt a sense of accomplishment. "Now," I cried, clapping my hands. "Lets get drunk."

We all helped ourselves to some drinks, and walked around, examining the costumes.

I must have laughed for about an hour after seeing somebody who'd transfigured themselves into a fish (ridiculous, even without considering that fish aren't even scary), and later on, a butterfly with huge wings accidentally took drunken flight, and had to be charmed off of the ceiling.

I had had a bit to drink by this stage, and even with my usually high alcohol tolerance, I was feeling a little out of it. I was mildly aware that I hadn't seen Lee since she'd disappeared with Mitch hot on her tail, or Reg since his charming little spat, but I only cared a little bit.

I was pretty much drunk by the time 12oclock came around, and so, wasn't very affected when Annika excitedly pointed out that Mitch had promised a special demonstration at midnight.

It was only when she grabbed my arm, and shouted, "look, look there!" That I felt instinctively that something wasn't right.

I realised then that the music was a lot quieter, and everybody's shouting and talking was much more muffled, but I didn't pay much attention.

A massive clock had appeared, slightly translucent and old fashioned, suspended in mid air, it's huge hands indicating the time was 11:55. Everybody's sense of anticipation spiked as they watched the second hand go round and round.

And that was when I noticed her.

Lee was standing outside one of the alcoves, raised slightly above the crowd, looking lost and confused. She was wearing a beautiful white dress, like Lily's but a little shorter and with a wide red sash around her waist, which emphasized all the good things about her figure. Her hair fell in loose ringlets all around her shoulders and down her back, and in her hand, she held one of those masks with the sticks attached. She was holding it against her face, which covered the area around her eyes. It was a pretty mask, I suppose; again, white, but with white-gold wire twisting in elaborate patterns off to the side, so that it extended over her hair. It looked like she'd dusted her face with glitter or something. She wasn't wearing any shoes.

She looked beautiful.

"Wow." Somebody next to me said, and I couldn't help but agree. Wow.

As I watched (and I can't help but feel, _everybody_ else watched, too) she stepped out a little, her feet looking very small against the blackness of the floor. I couldn't help but notice that where she stood seemed illuminated somehow, as though she were glowing. Maybe I was drunker than I thought, I decided. Still, it did look that way, and as she hesitantly stepped out further, free hand clutching at her skirt, I thought she looked like a fallen angel, or something similar.

"What is she supposed to be?" somebody slurred drunkenly. Somebody else shushed them. I wasn't paying attention to anything but Lee.

As I (we) watched, she stepped out more, swaying a little to the music, and as she moved further and further into the centre of the room, she actually began dancing, alone, mind you, but gracefully, swirling in time to the music.

"Lily, what is going-" James tried to ask, but Lily wasn't listening.

The clock, I noticed suddenly, was lower now, almost directly behind Lee, and she danced in front of it, skirts swirling around her, head tilted back, hair flying out in all directions, in time to the ticking of the clock.

It was dead silent now, except for the music, which had gotten distinctly eerie, and I wondered whether something had gone wrong. I looked around in vain for Mitch. He wasn't anywhere.

It was three minutes til midnight.

Lee continued to dance, and the music got a little more frenzied. She began to twirl faster and faster, apparently oblivious to the fact that nobody else was dancing around her, until she was just a blur of movement.

And then, to everybody's astonishment, she twirled into somebody else's arms.

And, as though nothing had happened, she smiled dreamily, and they began to dance together. I didn't recognise the stranger, but I knew I didn't like him. He was dressed all in black, but with a strangely pale face, even paler than Lee, who looked positively glowing beside him. They danced and danced, and then, to everybody's surprise, the sinister stranger and Lee seemed to rise off of the ground a little, til they were dancing in the air.

It was the strangest, most graceful thing I had ever seen.

Two minutes til midnight.

They kept dancing, with that eerie music playing in the background. I felt uneasy. The boy really did seem almost predatory in the way he was holding her, and, even drunk, I thought there was something odd about the fact that they were floating.

I'm sure others felt the same, but they just kept watching, speechless, as the scene unfolded.

One minute til midnight.

Lee's hand held her skirt out to the side, and her head tossed prettily as the stranger whirled her around, twirling her under his arm, the music seemed to be reaching a crescendo, and the whole inebriated party watched in drunken amazement as the two figures spun around. It was even more pronounced, now, how different they were. He dressed all in black and with weirdly pale skin, like a grey blot in the darkness, she glowing like white gold, looking vital and beautiful. It made everybody feel slightly ill, I think.

And then, the song ended. They stopped dancing, just facing each other mutely. And at that exact moment, just when people seemed about to applaud nervously; the clock chimed twelve.

First chime; Lee and the stranger stared at each other. She looked a little confused, and even as we watched, blushed a bit. He removed her mask and smiled.

Second chime; he put a hand in her hair, winding it into the curls. I felt oddly possessive.

Third chime; she smiled nervously as he stroked her cheek. I felt murderous.

Fourth chime; his smile turned a little bit predatory, his grip on her hair tightened.

Fifth chime; Lee frowned a little, and tried to free herself. His hand held fast.

Sixth chime; suddenly everybody jumped as he pulled her in closer to him. Even from that distance, we could see her eyes grow wide with fear.

Seventh chime; he yanked at her hair, pulling her head backwards and down, so that he pale throat was exposed. We all felt uneasy, especially at the expression on her face as he forced her into that position. Her hands came up against his shoulders, now trying to push him away.

Eighth chime; he nuzzled her neck. I'm sorry, mysterious somebody, but there is no other word for it. We watched mystified as Lee's hands relaxed a little, and he ran his face along her throat.

Ninth chime; his head reared up, and he bit down on her throat, hard.

There was a collective gasp from the crowd as we realised just what the stranger was; a vampire. But still, nobody said or did anything. Shocked, we watched as Lee's hands pushed against him, frantically trying to force him away.

Tenth chime; she twisted in his arms, and he tightened his grip.

Eleventh chime; we could see the blood running down her neck, staining her white dress red; there was so much of it. She struggled, pushing against him, but to no avail, and she was weakening.

Twelfth chime.

Her hands dropped. She fell limp in his arms, head lolling backwards. The golden glow that had surrounded her was completely gone. She was pale, pale as death, just like him.

"No!" I shouted drunkenly.

There was a moment of absolute silence, and then, all of a sudden, Lee slowly began to return to an upright position, bit by bit, until last of all, her head flicked back up.

She was inches away from the vampire, and we all looked on in complete confusion.

And then, just as her eyelids flicked open, the massive clock behind her shattered into a million pieces, raining down on the crowd like snow, and when we next looked up, Lee's dress was no longer white, but a dark grey which contrasted brilliantly with her red sash, and her skin was deathly white, while her eyes were rimmed in smudged black. Her lips were bright red, and out of her mouth protruded shiny white fangs.

We all gaped.

She grinned sinisterly.

"Happy Halloween," she whispered, and it carried all over the hall. And then, the music started again. Suddenly everybody was laughing, including Lee, who, with her vampire, was descending slowly back to our level, grinning like a maniac.

I turned to my right. Lily was laughing happily, eyes glazed over with the look of somebody who's had too much to drink, and James was clapping heartily. Annika, leaning on my shoulder, had her mouth open and one hand clapped over it.

I was completely baffled.

And then Lee and her vampire came towards us, laughing like idiots. They weren't being at all graceful now, mind you. They were doubled up laughing and had to stop every couple of seconds and steady themselves. When they finally arrived, Lee grinned at us, hands on hips, and said, "well?"

"It was great!" Lily enthused, James nodded.

"Yeah! God, for a while there I thought you were really a vampire, Mitch."

I frowned. Mitch?

And then it was bloody obvious. Because standing next to Lee, holding her hand with fake blood running down his front, was Mitch Jordan.

Ah.

They were all laughing now, the hilarity of the situation only increased by the massive amount of alcohol we'd all consumed.

"Well, Sirius?" Mitch cackled. "Wasn't it brilliant? Didn't I say it would be fantastic?"

"Oh yeah," I nodded, trying to look enthusiastic. "Real life-like."

"Yeah, I thought I'd heard you scream at the end." Mitch grinned.

It was pretty obvious to me, then, that Mitch and Lee had drunk just as much as the rest of us. Unfortunately, I was feeling extremely sober all of a sudden. I got the feeling that this sudden awareness was brought on by the shock of how afraid for Lee I had actually been.

It went beyond, 'oh, look, a vampire! Somebody save Lee!', and progressed quite neatly to, 'no! Not Lee! Not her! please, I'll do anything!' type anguish. This embarrassed me, especially seeing as it had all been a joke.

Luckily, nobody noticed my inner turmoil, all being to drunk to care. I felt a spurt of irritation at the way that Lee was leaning on Mitch, just then, almost clutching at him. Not that he was much better, with his hand practically on her butt. That I had my hand on Annika's butt wasn't relevant, I decided.

"I thought it was brilliant!" Lee announced. Everybody looked confused. I wasn't really, until I realised she'd spoken in French. She realised not long after me. "Did I say that in French?" she asked, still in French.

Everybody laughed uproariously, utterly at a loss, but comprehending the sentiment.

If I had stayed there much longer, I think I may actually have punched someone. As it was, just then, a duel broke out.

We all clamoured to get to the point of conflict, where everybody else had gone. To my surprise, the two duelists were a Slytherin quidditch player and a boy in black robes.

"Take it back!" The Slytherin called out as we approached. "You piece of shit! How dare you!"

The boy-in-black laughed, shooting a spell at him. "I will say what I want, and I'll dress how I want." He slurred. "Nothing you can do about it. I'll be Voldemort if I bloody well like."

The Slytherin hissed, shooting a curse his way. He seemed much more in control than the other, who I realised with a shock, was dressed in rather bad taste as Voldemort.

By then that was a familiar name to us. In just a few weeks things had changed so much that he was a recognizable figure. And a feared one at that. He'd taken credit for all the muggle-born killings, and had announced his policies. Scariest of all, he had a surprisingly large following. And it was growing.

I wondered absently whether this quidditch player was an offended muggle-born who'd picked a fight.

"You aren't good enough to shine his boots, how dare you claim his name!" The Slytherin spat, brandishing his wand and raining molten hot sparks down on everybody around him.

I frowned. Perhaps not a muggle born, then.

And then, just when it looked like things might escalate, Lee stepped into the middle of the fight.

"Grow up, both of you!" she snapped. They looked at a loss. A flash of understanding crossed her face. "Grow up, both of you!" she announced again, this time in English. Her gaze (scathing, even whilst she was completely inebriated) landed on the boy dressed as Voldemort. "You are pathetic." She hissed. "To think you'd make light of something, of someone, so foul."

The quidditch player stiffened. "Lee, how _dare_ you…"

"Enough, Reg." Lee whirled around to face him, fury etched into her face. "This party is supposed to be for having _fun_- not for you to make a fool of yourself over something as trivial as an idiot in fancy-dress."

I started. The quidditch player was my baby brother.

Of course I recognized him now. The robes, the hair. That scorn and all of that hate. But he looked ashamed now, gazing at his shoes before looking up to meet Lee's eyes.

"Listen, Lee, I-" he began, but she merely dragged him away.

I followed, in a daze. My brother, a death eater?

Lee dragged him across to one of the alcoves, muttering angrily in French the whole time. Even the drunkest of the drunk stayed out of her way, she looked so very terrifying. But I followed.

"Honestly, Reg," She snapped when they were far from the crowd. "I told you when I brought you here that this was a chance to get _away_ from politics- from hate. This was supposed to be a break from all of that prejudice and chaos. I mean, Reg." she pulled a hand through her hair in frustration. "It's a costume party!" The affect of her words was somewhat diminished by her slurring

"So?" he muttered sullenly, and then his eyes lit up and he glared at her. "That little _mudblood_ was dressed up like the Dark Lord."

Lee slapped him across the face.

For a while, she just glared at him, but finally, in a voice that was chillier than anything I've ever heard, she said, "I did not bring you here tonight to listen to such _filth_ from your lips. I pulled you out of that meeting for a reason, Reg, those boys are poisonous."

I wondered whom she meant, until Reg frowned. "We are not! It's mudbloods like _that_ who are poisonous! And you should know that better than anyone!"

Lee slapped him again, before roughly grabbing his collar and dragging him closer to her, till he was just inches from her face. "For your information," she snarled, "that was Smatterly, and his family is pure blood for generations back!"

The alcohol seemed to have dissolved her English.

Reg said nothing for the longest time, just looked at her. But eventually the spell broke and his eyes turned cold. "Next time," he hissed, "I'll go to the meeting. I'd rather be with _Voldemort's_ people than with these idiots."

And he ran off.

I watched Lee for a moment longer. She swayed awkwardly on her feet, obviously feeling the affects of whatever she'd been drinking, and then her legs gave way beneath her.

"Lee!" Lily ran over, James at her side. "Why are you on the floor?"

I sauntered out now, confident that if James and Lily had arrived first, Annika couldn't reasonably be angry with me. My theory proved correct. She looked a little suspicious, but took my hand when I came near enough, thereby dispelling any illusions of anger.

"I am on the floor…..because I fell over," Lee proclaimed tiredly.

"Drunk," Annika slurred derisively. I tried not to laugh. Hypocrisy, thy name is Annika.

"You know what," Lee was saying now. "This country is very ricidulous," she frowned before correcting herself. "Ri_dic_ulous."

Lily smiled, smoothing her hair off of her face. "Yeah, Lee, it is." And then she pursed her lips a little. "Almost as ridiculous as getting _quite_ this drunk at a Halloween party."

Lee waved her hand tiredly. "I _live_ to be ricidulous." Again, she considered this. "Ri_dic_ulous, not ri_cid_ulous. _Mon dieu_, I am drunk."

Lily tipped her head back and laughed.

Lee stood, with James' help, and then leant on him. She really was quite drunk, I realized suddenly. "Per'aps," she announced now, "to leave will not be so bad."

Lily, still laughing, paused. "Leave, Lee?"

Lee laughed, staggering a little, but Lily seemed to have sobered up completely. I certainly had. Despite the noise around us, our little circle was very silent. James was frowning, while Lily looked confused, and even Annika seemed subdued. I have no idea what expression was gracing _my_ face.

Lee nodded. "Yes, leave! It is all arranged! At the end of term, my father is coming to take me back to France." She laughed again, but it wasn't a happy sound. "No more rebelling, no more disgracing him," she sang, and then, with a cheeky smile, "no more being ri_cid_ulous_._ I will go back home, and be a good daughter, it is all arranged." Her false smile dropped a little, and she frowned. "Ah, _merde_." She swore, and then sank contentedly down onto the floor, her skirt billowing out around her.

It was less like she'd fallen over, and more like she'd just decided she wasn't really in the mood to stand up anymore.

Still shocked, James caught her, pulling her back up to sit on the alcove. "Oh, Lee," he whispered, giving her a hug.

_My_ job, I couldn't help but think.

"When was it 'arranged'?" Lily asked, sounding worried. Lee looked up, not looking sexy-vampire any more, but more like a sad little girl in grown-up clothes. "Lee, when did he arrange this?"

Lee sighed again, pulling a cigarette from behind her ear and lighting it with the tip of her wand. As she took a long drag, staring out at nothing, I couldn't help but feel like I hadn't seen her smoking in ages. But that didn't matter, not at all. Because as I watched, she took a long, slow drag and met Lily's gaze, and in the weariest voice I'd ever heard, she said: "at the funeral, of course."


	20. Chapter 20

A very good morning to you, mysterious somebody. The sun is not up, all the sensible birds are sleeping….three thirty is a magical time, is it not?

And why, pray tell, am I awake so late? I have been remembering.

Remembering many things.

Last night, I knocked over Reg's desk. I blame Kreacher, naturally. The little cretin snuck up behind me, absolutely silently, mind you, and waited till her was right next to my ear before commencing cursing very loudly at me. Understandably perturbed, I jumped and spilt the last of my purple ink all over the pages I had just written.

In retaliation, I threw the desk at him.

Alright, I know I said 'knocked over', but you have to admit, throwing a desk at a house elf because he muttered isn't a particularly mature action on my part. Not fatherly at all.

You may notice that this is still written in purple. That is because I did eventually remember that I was a wizard, and so siphoned it up into its bottle again.

But that isn't the point. See, after I threw the desk (I was hoping saying that would get less embarrassing…..alas!) one of the draws fell out, and in that draw was a photo. It was a small one, and had white marks through it where it had been folded and unfolded many times. In it, two boys stood solemnly in front of a house. Well, one boy stood solemnly, while his older counterpart sulked petulantly, bottom lip thrust out, sullen eyes. His arm was somewhat reluctantly wrapped around his brother (you could tell the were brothers by the hair and eyes), and he was scuffing his feet. When he looked up at the camera, his eyes were full of rage. Even _I_ flinched at that Black look.

His younger brother wasn't looking at the camera at all. He was standing perfectly still, and his hands were by his sides, but he was gazing up at his brother, with an expression of awe on his face. Awe and amazement and adoration. It was obvious that he looked up to him.

It gave me a shock, because I never remembered Reg looking at me like that. Ever.

Thinking back, I suppose it was because I never really noticed him. He was like a faceless, whiny thing which followed me around, parroting me, and thereby getting me into trouble.

I remember the day they took that photo. I had just come into my magic, and, in celebration, had demonstrated my new found skill by levitating the cremation urn holding the remains of my maternal grandfather out of the window. Not a wise choice, in retrospect, but hey, I was only about eight. My mother had been planning to take some photos to send to her sister, in a sort of 'my marriage is better than yours, my children are better than yours' gesture, and, even her rage could not stop her from rubbing her two sons in her sister's face. In the end, she even incorporated how I had come into my magic at a very young age into the letter.

Anyway, I remember the circumstances, but I don't remember Reg anymore than I would remember a chair I was sitting on in a photo. He was little more than a prop. As we grew older, we hated each other more.

Or so I had thought, but then I found the photo, and I wonder now, did he actually love me? Did he, not so deep down, miss me? Even at the end, when we were against each other, openly enemies.

And that got me thinking about the last time I had seen him, not long before my mother burnt my name off of the family tree in pure blind rage at what I had done.

Because the last time I saw my baby brother, I almost killed him.

…

The fighting was fierce. The rocky outcrop that we were dueling on was crumbling under strain from our collective weight, not to mention the spells that were ricocheting off of it in all directions.

'Petrificus Totalus!" I shouted, and the guy I was dueling fell back, stiff as a board. I was sweating pretty badly, and wishing I had listened to Remus when he'd warned me about over exerting myself. It was, after all, the fourth time I'd been out in a battle in as many days.

I needed a break- I _deserved_ a break.

But, Lily had asked me to look out for James, and so there I was, half dead with exhaustion and caught in the middle of the most intense duel of the year.

Aside from that, my biggest problem was that I couldn't see James anywhere. He'd been pretty much right behind me seconds before, but in all the confusion, he'd disappeared. It took me a minute before I saw him again. The idiot had managed to get himself into a duel right up on top of the outcrop, at a very dramatic point where the cliff dropped straight down to the rocks at the bottom. If he managed to survive the duel, he would have a good job not getting himself killed coming down. As I watched, I saw the death eater he was fighting disarm him, and James fell to his knees.

I _had_ warned Lily I was a shitty babysitter.

I dodged a killing curse and started to run up the cliff, ignoring my leg, which had been slashed open to the bone by a spell I didn't know. But it was painful, and I knew I wasn't fast enough to get up there in time to save James, not as I was. So, cursing furiously, I transformed, and ran up that cliff on four legs, panting, wand in my mouth.

I careened into a couple of death eaters, and scrambled over some jagged rocks, which tore up my wounded leg pretty badly, but I didn't stop. I was close enough now to hear the spells which James' death eater was using.

"Crucio!" he was shouting. "Crucio!" And even though James was clearly unconscious with pain, he kept on cursing him, making his limp body jolt up and down like a rag-doll.

I kept on waiting for that death eater to raise his wand and utter the killing curse, but he just kept on using 'crucio' over and over again.

I felt rage bubbling inside of me. With one mighty leap, I crashed into the death eater, pushing him away from James and letting his wand clatter away, falling between two rocks.

And as I hit him, I transformed.

"James!" I shouted, "James, hang on."

Then I lifted my wand. "You piece of scum." I spat, blood frothing from my lips. I hadn't even noticed that I'd cut them. "How would you like a taste of your own medicine?"

"Expelliamus!" he shouted, and though I was one of the quickest duelists around, my exhaustion had caught up with me and I was too late. My wand shot off into the air, landing uselessly some feet away. There was an odd silence, and I waited for him to kill me, but he didn't. He just stared at me, hood pulled over his eyes, wand at the ready.

I don't know how long we would have stayed like that if I hadn't glanced back at James. I had heard him groan, and instinctively checked to see if he was alive. I don't know what that death eater saw in my face, but his hand tightened on his wand, and he straightened.

"CRUCIO!" He cried, flicking his wand at me, "CRUCIO"

The pain was intense. I fell to my knees, feeling my entire body searing with agony.

"Crucio." He said again, but his voice sounded shaky, and I felt nothing but a jolt of energy through my body. "Crucio…." He whispered.

He was crazy, I had no doubt. He hadn't killed James or I, yet, and now he seemed unable to curse me. I lay on the ground, panting, and waiting for the guy to snap out of whatever spell he was under and kill me. And that was when I saw my wand; caught on a tuft of grass sticking out from between some rocks. It was just within my reach…

"Avada….oh god," the death eater was saying, his voice broken by sobs. I clenched my teeth and stretched out, "avada…..avada…"

"Expelliamus!" I screamed, jumping up.

More energy went into that spell than ever before. I felt it coursing down my arm and up my wand, and then, as I watched, the death eater arced backwards.

Maybe it would have ended there for me, mysterious somebody, maybe I wouldn't have told you this story, but for the fact that, as he fell, to death or escape, I wasn't sure, his hood finally fell back, and all his actions suddenly made sense.

Because under that hood was my brother, Regulus.

…

Unsurprisingly, when we all emerged for breakfast the morning after the Halloween party, we discovered firstly that we'd _missed_ breakfast, and it was instead lunchtime, and secondly that everybody was willing to pretend Lee had not said anything the night before.

Even when Lee herself failed to show up.

Incidentally, another thing which went without remark

When she did descend, mid afternoon, looking bright and chirpy, everybody waited, with bated breath, to see whether or not she would explain her outburst at the party.

She did not.

Though James looked miffed and Lily worried, they both knew not to pry, even when Lee brushed the subject with a mention of the party.

I was not in the least bit surprised. I knew how Lee operated, and any time she felt she had been embarrassed was a time she would immediately delete from her mind, pushed to the back and hidden under other best-forgotten days. I came to this conclusion whilst watching her butter a piece of toast she'd somehow smuggled out of the kitchens, and it led me to even more epiphanies.

Lee hated situations where she had shown her true feelings. They were awkward for her, even if other people found them moving. She just did not feel right opening up to people. _That_ was why she had backed off so suddenly after my uncle's will reading. She had exposed herself, and been rejected. Hey, presto! Our relationship morphed into a strictly 'friends' type arrangement. I could handle that, and so could Lee, judging by the grace with which she'd dealt with the situation.

Again, if we moved a little further down the term's timeline, to not too long ago, in fact, it becomes obvious why she had been so cool towards me. She had opened herself up beyond completely, in a way that couldn't ever be brushed off as a mistake or a joke, and I had refused. Made her feel sentimental, even idiotic. Weak.

Lee did not enjoy being perceived in this way.

So, much like a person who has a traumatising experience they wish to forget, Lee distanced herself from those who knew of her temporary 'weakness', and was pretended that nothing had happened at all.

And so we return to my first point; James and Lily sensed that any mention of her drunken announcement would go unappreciated, and so wisely avoided said topic. Of course, darling Lee lived to make things difficult. Even for herself.

"My dress is ruined!" she was announcing now, the third time she'd referred to the party which we were all so desperately trying to avoid discussing. "Honestly! I swear I will curse Mitch next time I see him- he _swore_ that fake blood would wash straight out!" To add emphasis to her statement, Lee waved her hands through the air, the piece of toast she held flopping limply back and forth.

James nodded in mute agreement, obviously unsure as to what was a safe subject for him to broach. After watching his internal struggle for some minutes, I leapt in to save him.

"Still, great stunt you two pulled," I laughed, only slightly sarcastically. "You should consider that kind of thing as a career option."

"What does that mean?" Lee asked archly, and even Lily looked confused.

What the hell had I done wrong now? Apparently something big, because Lee's cool demeanour melted away and Lily looked a little annoyed.

"Well, what do you mean, what do I mean?" I asked.

Now everybody was at a loss.

Luckily, we had Lee to explain everything to us.

She tore off a chunk of toast with surprising viciousness. "What I mean is, are you assuming that I am too stupid to do anything but be an attraction at parties for my whole life?"

There was an awkward silence.

"Well, you certainly are attractive," I told her with a winning smile. Beside me, James winced, and Remus looked away, a tell tale frown on his face.

A frown which meant 'Sirius, _no_.'

Lee's eyes narrowed, "thank you, Sirius," she said with a tight smile- a _dangerous_ smile which always preceded a long and bitingly sarcastic rant, "and here I was considering an academic career, one requiring training or preparation!"

"Oh shit." James breathed, eyes widening as he watched Lee gear up for full, devastating rage.

"Imagine, if you hadn't pointed out that I am nothing more than attractive, I might even have considered myself of reasonable intelligence!" She snapped, dramatically throwing her hand back on her forehead as though she were about to faint. "Oh, how embarrassed I would have been when I went for a job! Oh, and what if I'd even tried _talking_ to somebody! So humiliating, and awkward for whoever it was!" She straightened up, meeting my gaze with mock solemnity. "I'll be sure to stick to mute smiles and flashing my breasts in the future. Thank you, Sirius, what would I do without you."

The following silence was incredibly awkward. I wondered if it would fall to me to break it.

In such a situation, a woman is much like a rabid dog. Completely irrational, and likely to bite whoever is nearest (no offense intended, mysterious somebody). So, in such a situation, a man is most likely to think carefully about what he will say next, so that it will cause little insult.

But I have always trusted my mouth to produce the most appropriate comment without the help of my brain, and so I merely announced, "I'm sorry, Lee. I didn't mean to insinuate anything like that."

Lee's eyes turned from malicious to quite positively murderous. "You didn't _mean_ to insinuate?" she asked icily, "so then, it just _slipped_ out like that?"

I knew better than to answer. I had learnt from my last attempt to pacify her.

Or had I?

"Ok, enough, Lee!" I snapped, "I am _seriously_ hung over here, and yeah, it isn't fun, but _I'm_ not tearing shreds out of whoever talks to me, am I? I haven't been snapping at the closest person, have I? So calm the hell down!"

More silence.

And then, Lee jumped to her feet, glaring down at me.

"Haven't been _snapping_?" she demanded, then laughed. "You have done nothing but snipe at me since I sat down!"

I had not! Had I? I looked to James, who nodded slightly, looking apologetic. Lily glared at me, and I felt a wave of frustration.

"Oh, quit looking at me like that." I shot at Lily. "So I'm the bad guy here, is that it?" Nobody answered. Clearly I was. "Well screw you all! Lee is snapping, too!"

Lee looked livid. "Not as much as _you_ were!" she insisted immaturely.

Now was my opportunity to rise to the occasion and act like an adult. Or alternatively, not. "Well you snapped first!"

"No _you_ snapped first!"

"No, it was definitely _you_."

"No, _you_!"

"Lee!" Lily cried, "this is getting silly."

We were both standing up now. "No, I remember clearly," I shouted. "It was definitely you! You started snapping the second you came over."

"Oh yeah?" Lee snapped (notice, she _snapped_). "What did I say?"

Oh shit. Like I remembered that. "I don't know! Something… snappy. And rude. Really rude."

"Guys," James said cautiously, "calm down."

Lee laughed, ignoring him completely. "You have no idea what I said, do you?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "Doesn't matter. It was probably something rude. You _always_ snap. It's like you can't speak any other way."

"Says you!" Lee screamed at me in French. "You practically only speak sarcasm."

We began circling each other.

"Dear god." I heard Remus say tiredly. "They're going to kill each other over who was rude first."

James laughed a little. "Bloody dogs and cats with these two, isn't it." Then he raised his voice. "Oi, Sirius, back down, you can't fistfight a girl."

"Because I'd _win_." Lee hissed maliciously. I almost tackled her then and there.

I snarled. "No point fighting with you, _cheton_." I growled at her. "We all know the way you react when things get tough- so why don't you just _run away_ already!"

I fully expected her to scratch my eyes out when I said that. But she didn't. Instead, she straightened up, and the feral look in her eyes mostly dissipated.

"Ah." She said with a knowing smirk. "Of course." And then she turned on her heel and strode off.

I laughed cruelly. "Seriously, Lee?" she didn't turn around. "You're actually _running_ away? I was joking, you know, didn't _really_ think you were that big a coward."

Other than flipping me off, Lee didn't react. Instead, she jumped up onto a nearby lunch table, casually kicking some third years' lunches out of her way, and turned to face us.

She looked fairly intimidating, with her hands on her hips, and her torn-up school pinafore belted with her tie. Scariest of all, though, was the fact that she was wearing huge combat boots, and since she was standing on a table, she was at perfect height to kick my teeth out.

"Alright." She said loudly. "Maybe it's time I didn't pretend any more. Maybe we should _all_ stop being tactful."

"Like you ever started." I snapped.

Lee rolled her eyes. "You are a child." She said dismissively, her English getting worse and worse as it always did when she was annoyed. "I know what is up your arse, I know what is everybody's problem."

Were it in another situation, I would have laughed at the word 'arse' spoken in a French accent. As it was, with Lee looking as pissed off as she did, I only allowed a fraction of my brain to concentrate on the humour of her sentence.

Too much, it seemed, because her eyes narrowed.

"This is funny?" she asked, "fine. Fine. I'll just say it. I'm leaving Hogwarts at the end of the month."

"Hogwarts?" Lily asked tentatively.

"England," Lee corrected herself. "Not," she held up a restraining hand to James, who had opened his mouth, "for a holiday. Not," she nodded at Lily who appeared about to ask something, "for a short time. No," her eyes met mine, "I will not be coming back."

Everybody stared at her. So. She was leaving, I think we had all hoped that the bombshell of the previous night was nothing more than a drunken rant. Perhaps not.

"How long have you known?" Lily asked quietly, not meeting Lee's eyes. But there was something odd about her tone; she wasn't sympathetic so much as angry. But that couldn't be right, I decided.

Lee's own expression supported my first impression. Her mouth tightened slightly, and she straightened her back; she was on the defensive.

"Since 'ze funeral. In France." She clarified unnecessarily. I noticed that her accent was back. "My father decided 'zat it would be best for me to return to his home…..to his home." She had paused, I noticed, and everybody had craned forwards, waiting to hear the 'for a while', or 'for now' that we had been sure would follow her final words. But it did not come.

And so, another silence ensued. An even more awkward one now, if that were at all possible. And, though this could be fanciful thinking, it seemed to me that there was a vague wave of resentment passing from James to me. He certainly shot me a reproachful look. At that moment, I was glad that Lee had never told Lily about having invited me to come with her. Is invited even the word? No, _begged_ me to come. Some people would boast about that (as I, in fact, did) but now it felt just a little bit shameful that I'd refused.

"So," Lily asked hesitantly, "will you be coming back, do you think?"

Lee looked away. "No." she said softly. "I don't think he will let me."

I waited, along with all the males in the vicinity, for the inevitable tears and sniffles that this ultimatum-type statement would encourage in our women. But Lily just met Lee's eyes evenly, pursed her lips, and then looked away.

"Right," she said, sounding impatient. "Right then. So, how about last night, hey?" she smiled brightly around at us, "my head _still_ hurts from that vodka."

James gave her a concerned look, and Lee glanced sharply away from us all, apparently observing the fourth years on the quidditch pitch.

"Uh, Lily," James was saying, "you don't think that we should maybe discuss this with Lee a little bit more?"

"Not at all." Lily snapped, "I think she's told us what we need to know, don't you?"

James gave a sort of disbelieving scoff. "Well, sweetheart, I think, and this is just me, that I need a few more details…." He turned to Lee, "like, why?"

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, sinking down to sit on the table cross-legged. "My father thinks 'zat England is a bad influence on me. 'Ze boys, in particular."

Awkward. James managed a slightly pained smile. "Now that's a little bit unfair, don't you think?"

Lee was finished with her toast now. She elegantly drew an apple out of her pocket. "You 'av obviously not met my father," she told him with a sigh, " 'e is not much into being _fair_."

Lily muttered something bitter under her breath, and James put a hand on her back, still looking at Lee. "Care to point out what about us is bad?" he asked, still not sounding angry.

Lee shrugged, "why not? First, your _mingling_ with the mudbloods. My father has heard rumours that I _sit_ with a mudblood at school. Can you imagine?"

This was a dart aimed specifically at Lily, who ignored it. Lee smiled almost maliciously and took another bite of her apple. "Also, you 'av led me to make a spectacle of myself.. Eet seems that my deviations from school regulations have been noted."

"What deviations?" this murmured by Remus, who could so rarely be nudged into speech in front of Lee. I seemed to be the only individual who noticed this, however. Everybody else just accepted the question, and moved on.

"Ah," she smiled wryly. "Late night swimming, snogging in the corridors, dressing like a tramp, smoking tobacco on school property." She paused, apparently lost in thought. "smoking _other_ things on school property, entering into _several_ classroom brawls with the few respectable families left in England."

Oh. Me.

"Oh. Sirius." James nodded.

Lee smiled again. "Answering back, cutting class, cursing my peers, endangering a pureblood's ability to procreate," I sniggered at that. I couldn't help it. His face when her spell had hit his groin…..priceless, "snubbing my cousins, playing quidditch in a male team….the list could continue."

"We get the idea." James waved a hand dismissively. After all, he'd seen most of that stuff firsthand, "but what makes that such a big deal?"

Lee threw her head back and laughed. "My dear Mr Potter," she smiled, "it isn't what you do, it's whom you do it _with_."

Still angry, I scoffed derisively. "Oh, come off it, Lee." I said. "He can't force you to go anywhere- you're over seventeen now.

Lee shook her head, her lip curling in distaste. Yeah, speaking to me apparently caused her to throw up a little in her mouth. "No, in fact, I am only sixteen. I won't be seventeen for almost a year."

I felt as though that was something I should have known. I think we all did.

There was a moment's respectful silence, as we all pondered the fact that Lee would be leaving our lives at the start of the next month. It was something to think about, yes indeed, but I wasn't the only person dazed by the enormity of it. James looked a little vacant as well, and Peter looked, if anything, pleased. As we all considered Lee's predicament, I thought about butterflies and Annika, who hadn't joined us that morning, and then, unexpectedly, about Lee. Not when we'd first kissed, or even when we'd first met. No, I thought about Lee sailing past me, chin held high, to kiss Yves DuMont on the lips. I'd been embarrassed and offended, and slightly jealous then. But there was an underlying feeling of guilt. I _knew_ that it was me that kiss was aimed at, and I _knew_ it was my fault that she'd kissed him. I wondered why I was thinking about that until it came to me, in a rush. That was _exactly_ how I was feeling now, if in a very muted form.

In the end, it was James who broke the silence. Lily was angry at Lee for something, Remus was embarrassed around her, and she refused to even look my way, so it seemed to fall to James to be her friend.

"Ok, so," he smiled, "what havoc are you planning to raise in the coming weeks?"

Lee shrugged, "none."

"What!"

"None. Nothing at all," Lee said again, and when we began to protest, she raised a hand to silence us. "Nothing till the very last day."

We were quiet. That sounded promising.

Sensing that she had our full attention, Lee gave a lazy grin, "in France, our chateau is far from any town. I will see nobody for _weeks_ at a time. There will be no meeting new people, no alcohol, no muggles, no strangers, no friends, no music…"

It was suddenly clear what she wanted to do. "Oh, come _on_." I snorted. "You want to go to a night club?"

Those were the magic words (excuse the pun, it was unintended). Suddenly we were all paying close attention.

A night club. That magic muggle place where the lights flashed and everybody wore next to nothing. That place where they say the music is so loud it deafens you, and people end up drunkenly groping each other as they all squeeze onto an undersized dance floor and jump on tables. It held an air of mystique for all of us, bar Lily, who was, of course, a muggle born.

"Clubbing is stupid." She snapped now.

Lee ignored her, "I have found the perfect place," she smiled mysteriously, "a place where we can commemorate years of rebellion against the authority of teachers. It is called _En Chantéd_."

The way she pronounced it was slightly mocking, and, truth be told, it is a rather pathetic name. Not even clever, really, a sort of blend of the French and English words for the same thing. Still, it had a sort of crass appeal, especially when Lee went on about how very popular it was, how she had a friend who'd told her it was 'all the rage' (ah! How she smirked as she said that).

We were almost excited, until somebody pointed out something rather obvious. "And how do we get there?" Lily asked coolly, "seeing as a month from now we're still in school?"

Lee was ready. "I have an idea for that." She told us, "which I will share with you later. Not now."

"How kind of you," I drawled, "to leave us in suspense like this. After all, you wouldn't want to over excite us, now, would you?"

Lee was apparently unmoved. Or she was still ignoring me. "So, three weeks and five days from now," she told us, "we will go. Keep that night free."

"Who's invited?" James thought to ask.

"You," Lee said, "Those here, no others." She glanced in my direction for a moment, "oh, and Annika." She said with a sniff. "You can invite her."

"Dahlquist? Dahlquist!" We turned, and Lee sighed. The captain of the Slytherin quidditch team was approaching, looking stern.

"Stroud," she nodded in greeting. "What is the problem?"

He started to speak, but on catching sight of the rest of us, paused momentarily. "We have practice."

I thought Lee would make him wait, but she didn't. That seemed odd to me, after years of watching her bat her eyelids and beg for 'just another minute', or even ignoring the summoner altogether.

But that day, she leapt off of the table, gave us a cheeky smile, and darted after him.

"Hmmn," James frowned, watching her go. "She's eager. Should I be worried? She almost always kicks my but _without_ practice, imagine her with it! The next match should be a close one."

I'd forgotten that SLytherin and Gryffindor would be up against each other yet again in a matter of weeks. Days, even.

James still watched Lee's fast retreating figure, a smile playing across his lips. "Did you see how Stroud started when she jumped straight up? He was so shocked!" The smile died a little as he considered this. "I wonder why she was in such a bloody rush…"

I thought about answering, and then, as Annika approached, decided against it.

"Isn't it obvious?" I paused. I had been considering using those exact words, but it seemed that there was no need; Remus understood as well as I. He could speak for me. "Her father doesn't like the idea of her playing quidditch." He looked up, and I realised that he was sadder than he'd let on. "These are her last few weeks of it."

…

"….And they're up up and _away_!" the commentator announced gleefully, as the teams zipped off into the air.

"Well thank you for that useful tidbit," I sighed. Beside me, Lily snorted. And I continued, sarcasm dripping from my voice. "Honestly, quidditch would be _so_ difficult to follow without these constant updates."

"Pretty much impossible," Remus agreed, his eyes darting about as they followed the game. I guessed his gaze was on one player in particular.

"….and that's Potter to Bellis to Thyder, back to Bellis again, moving towards the Slytherin posts…..and what an interception folks, Dahlquist of Slytherin with the quaffle in arm…nice clear pass on to Stroud. And Parkinson, Stroud, back to Parkinson, great hit by Freeman of Gryffindor, almost had them, moving again, Mead, Dahlquist, and she shoots towards the posts….and SCORES! Twenty points for Slytherin."

A cheer went up. Remus clapped politely, smiling slightly. Lily scoffed. "I just can't believe it," she hissed.

I turned to her, bemused. "Neither can I. I'd have thought she'd have missed, considering her utter lack of coordination."

That was a joke.

Lily did not laugh.

"Lily flower?" I asked.

"I just can't believe it. I can't believe _her_." Lily was frowning rather dramatically, and I couldn't help but wonder whether she was worried about giving herself wrinkles. I decided not to ask. "I mean, was she _ever_ going to tell us?"

"Tell us what?" I asked, absentmindedly watching Lee swoop out of the way of a bludger. "Shouldn't she be wearing her hair pulled back?"

It was streaming out behind her, which looked pretty, but couldn't have been conducive to full visionary capacity. As I watched, she whirled her broom around, and her hair whipped her in the face.

"Yes," Lily snapped. "And I hope she falls off because of it."

That was a vicious thing to say about a friend. I looked at Lily consideringly. "Say, are you _angry _at her, Lily?"

Lily looked at me for a moment, eyes full of disbelief. I waited.

"Well, _yes_," she said eventually. "What, aren't you?"

"No," I answered absently. And I wasn't. After the adrenalin from our early-morning spar had died out, I had been left feeling almost devoid of emotion. Now here I was, watching her play quidditch without a single thought in my head. Of course, Lily couldn't leave me to that peace. "Why should I be? If she needs to leave, well, she can just leave."

James was hovering maybe a hundred feet up in the air. He seemed bored to me, but then, at such a distance, who can tell.

"…Brilliant bludger hit by Harper. Almost had him, there, but Gainsburgh's too quick…."

"There's James," I told Lily. I didn't really spend much time at quidditch games- and when I _was_ there, I was generally with single girls, _flirting_. Not with somebody with a boyfriend. What were we supposed to talk about? "Maybe we should wave." I suggested.

I lifted a hand and shot an encouraging smile at Lily, but she just looked at my scathingly while James darted off. I was so mesmerized by her scorn that I forgot to watch the game.

"Oh! And what a goal- never seen one like that- just what we've come to expect from the brilliant Mr Potter- what an amazing player."

"Damn." I muttered. "Missed it."

"I don't believe you." Lily snapped suddenly, making me jump. "You _must_ be angry. You're practically engaged to her, anyway."

"That," I said, "is ridiculous. And if Annika hears it, she will claw out your eyes." I wasn't joking- suddenly nervous, I did a quick check around to see if my girlfriend was within earshot.

"Oh, stop being so cagey." Lily snapped. "You like her- you always have."

"Don't." I protested. "Never did."

Lily was quiet for a moment. "Well, even if you're not in love with her," this was said in the same tone mothers say, 'well, if you didn't break that vase', sort of skeptical and patronising, "you are still angry. After all, you're close friends!"

"Once, maybe." I sighed, "not so much any more. Anyway, I don't think you should be angry at her."

"Why not?" Lily snapped. "She didn't exactly give me much warning before flitting off to bloody France. And when she comes back, she just announces that she'll be off for good, with little reason why."

I had a bad feeling about where this was going. It was time for a change of subject.

"What's the score…." I asked lamely, craning my head around the person in front of me. "I can't tell, because for some reason, _some_ people think that humungous hair is fashionable, and don't seem to realise what an _inconvenience _it is at a sports match."

The girl in front of me turned red and sank deep into her seat.

"Oh, how considerate of you." I drawled. She turned a deeper shade of red, and earned an encouraging nudge from her friend. I tried not to gag.

"You know who _that_ is?" the friend was squealing. "_Sirius_ Black! He's so amazing, wish I'd gotten his attention…."

She had it now. I was trying very hard to restrain myself from cursing her hair off, the idiot.

"So, why is she leaving _really_?" Lily was asking.

"Hmmn?" I growled. "What was that?"

"Don't play dumb!" Lily snapped, "I asked why _she_ was really leaving. Did you do something?"

"Did _I_ do something?" I gaped, aghast. "What makes you think _I_ did something?"

"You _always_ do something!"

I couldn't argue with that. It was reasonably true.

"No! So close- brilliant interception by Potter- he seems to be doing more work than the Gryffindor Keeper today. Up your game, Burke!"

I'd missed something else? At least it wasn't a goal this time, just James doing his 'I can play all positions better than you' thing. Once, he caught the snitch while he was meant to be playing chaser.

"So what was it?" Lily snapped at me again.

I opened my mouth to protest when I was interrupted.

"Excuse me, sorry." I stopped glaring at Lily and found a new annoyance. Friend of Big-Hair stared up at me, batting her eyelashes. "I was just wondering…who is that chaser, there?"

How deplorable. Was I expected to answer her? Apparently so, as she was still staring up at me, waiting, while her friend turned more and more crimson.

"Which chaser?" I asked, smiling _very_ tightly.

Friend of Big Hair giggled. "That one," she pointed vaguely behind her.

"Well," I began, trying not to bite her head off, "the funny thing about quidditch is that the chasers move around all the time. They're on brooms, see? So, when you point like that, they've already flown off."

"Oops," she giggled again. "Well, thank you. You're _so_ helpful… a true gentleman." She batted her eyelashes some more. They'd probably fall off in a minute, if she wasn't careful.

"Oh, it was my _pleasure_, really," I snarled.

She seemed to take this as encouragement, giggling and waving before turning back to her friend.

"So, what happened?" Lily asked.

"Hmmn? Oh, I didn't see, but it sounds like Slytherin scored again….." I frowned, again trying to see the scoreboard.

"Yes, they did." Remus clarified, looking sympathetic to my plight.

"Who?"

"Oh. Stroud, I think."

"Sirius!" Lily hissed, "_Lee_."

I was confused. "Well, she's not doing much at the moment, Lily, I'm not going to watch her."

"No!" She cried. "What happened with Lee?"

Ah.

"Nothing that I know of?" I tried. Lily glared at me. "Ok, ok. Her father is a bit controlling." I tried, "you know, what happened with Raoulf and all. I think she's a bit scared of him."

"Raoulf?"

A huge cheer erupted around us. Friend of Big-Hair yelped and threw herself into my arms. "Isn't this fantastic?" she squealed happily.

I was not in the mood. "If that's what you want to call it," I snapped at her.

"Who is he?" Lily demanded.

"Jesus! I didn't see, but I'm going to guess that it was James, or maybe Arroworth."

"Not the game, Sirius!" Lily snarled through gritted teeth, "Raoulf. Who is Raoulf?"

We were slipping into dangerous territory marked 'PRIVATE'. I was surprised that Lily didn't know, but I didn't have time to think about that. Because, if Lily didn't know, Lee didn't want her to know, which basically meant I'd made a huge mistake.

"Oh, a friend from France, nothing major." I dodged.

"Sirius!" Lily growled in warning.

"Look, it isn't important. He- god, he was her brother. He died. End of story, don't tell her I told you. Anyway, she's been avoiding her father for years, and when she had to go back for the funeral…..well, I guess he got his claws back into her."

Lily looked a little bit skeptical, even through her shock. "Lee would never let anybody boss her around."

I glanced up. It was coincidental that right then, Lee had managed to secure the quaffle, and was darting around with it, dipping under oncoming bludgers in her path to the goal hoops.

As she got closer, she measured up for a throw, and the keeper tensed. But instead of throwing it at the hoops, she passed to another chaser. The keeper had darted to the side, thinking she'd been aiming for the left hoop, and in his moment of confusion, the second chaser easily looped the ball through the middle hoop.

"And Slytherin scores!" the commentator crowed.

I looked back up at Lee, who punched the air triumphantly, before blowing the Gryffindor keeper a kiss. She did it with such charm, that his scowl melted away momentarily, until he saw the scoreboard, and reset it.

James zoomed up beside her, leaning over and saying something mock-offensive, and she shoved him off again, laughing, while her team looked on in outrage.

Nobody approved of their mid-match banter.

"No," I said slowly. "You wouldn't think she would. But parents are different, you know? Not all of them are as supportive of their children as yours are.

Lily did not appreciate _that, _I could tell. "My parents are just like anybody else's."

I scoffed. "Lily-flower, have you ever been told that you're a disappointment? No? Alright, had your opinions called idiotic, and your friends beneath you? What about being told that you have a reputation to live up to, and you have to protect it?"

Lily pursed her lips.

"Parents have this weird, undeniable influence over us. It's just the way it is. And no parents are more domineering than pure blood parents, who regard their children more as an extension of the bloodline than precious little angels." I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "To them, we're just channels for the genes to go through. It's complete crap, to be seen as an asset as opposed to a human, and our parents are _obsessed_ with keeping us on the right path, that is, down the aisle with your second cousin, no joke. So don't judge Lee, you wouldn't fare any better."

Lily glared at me, and looked back to the front.

"Sirius!" Remus nudged me with his foot. "Look at him go."

"Who?" I frowned, "James?"

Remus rolled his eyes, "no, idiot. Your brother."

And Reg was diving, dipping and weaving through the players, hand outstretched. At the last second, a well-aimed bludger knocked his hand, and he pulled out of his dive, clutching it to his chest.

"Oops," I said, "that will cause some trouble."

The umpire called time out, and flew over to him, but Reg waved him away.

"And we're playing on, with the Slytherin seeker, Black, wounded but stoic. Good form, Black." A cheer went up from the Slytherin side.

"We're being slaughtered," Peter whined into his hands. I wasn't sure when he'd arrived.

"Sssh, Peter," I smiled. "It will get better. After all, we have James."

"I'm not judging her." Lily announced suddenly.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm not judging her. Lee. It's just that she didn't even tell me that she was leaving, can you believe that?"

"Lily!" I groaned. "I don't care! Really, I don't. What Lee does, well, it has less than nothing to do with me."

She eyed me, looking superior, "you're in denial, you know that?" I scoffed. "Why don't you just admit that you're at least as hurt as I am?"

"Honestly?" This was getting frustrating. I couldn't even keep one eye on the scoreboard because Big-Hair was still hanging around. "Because I'm not. It isn't like Lee and I are close."

"You were moving in together!" Lily exclaimed.

"Yeah, like we really ever thought that would happen." I snorted.

_Liar_. I had thought it would happen. I had known that she'd be furious with me when I didn't go with her to the funeral, no matter what I told James. And so, deciding that words didn't go down so well with Lee, I had begun preparation for a present. Every second night, I would go down there to work on my housewarming present. I got in no trouble at all, which made me wonder about the security she'd prepared.

So, I had worked tirelessly on my present, sure that she would appreciate it, and yet, now it seemed that she would never see it. I decided, therefore, that it didn't count.

"Sirius," Lily said softly. "If you can't admit that you're upset, you must be worse off than me."

"You know what?" I turned to her, exasperated, "I really do not understand women. Not ten minutes ago it was all my fault that Lee was leaving, and I didn't care enough to tell you, and now, all of a sudden, because I'm not upset and don't need comforting, you turn on the sympathy! What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Sirius?" an unfamiliar voice piped up. Friend of Big-Hair- since when were we on first name terms? "If you're having problems with your friend, you're welcome to sit down here with us."

"I'll pass, thank you," I said blankly. "Anyway, Lily, lay off of me. I'm sorry that I'm not upset enough for your ridiculous girl standards but hey, I can't say I care all that much. Now please, I have seen literally five minutes of this game, and I really did want to watch it, so…"

A huge cheer went up, and I turned back, confused.

"Whhhooooooohoooo!" the commentator cried, "and Jacobs has it! What a catch! How marvellous was that, folks! Another amazing victory for Gryffindor. Looks like the team will be carried to the finals in the arms of their seeker and their jack-of-all-trades chaser Potter! Three cheers for Jacobs and Potter! Hip hip!"

Hooray. I turned to Lily, my eye positively twitching.

She looked slightly shamefaced, not that that mollified me in the slightest.

"Thank you so much," I smiled through gritted teeth, "for that wonderful talk. Now, I think that I'll go and hide in the men's lavatory for a while; the only place where I won't have to deal with girl problems."

I walked off and left her sitting there, wondering all the while which idiot had invented women.

I wasn't joking about the lavatory, either. I found the closest one; in the Gryffindor locker rooms, and sat down on a chair, while the team showered nearby. Every now and them, a boy would walk past in nothing but a towel, and I would rejoice. Here, it didn't matter if your feet smelt. If you farted, you got a high five. Life was sweet.

"Holy Shit!"

"My god, what the hell?"

"Someone pass me my towel!"

My eyes opened. Something was causing trouble in paradise.

"Hey, gorgeous, great game today."

A low and angry voice suggested the speaker do something which, considering the human anatomy, would be rather difficult to achieve.

That in itself did not worry me. Only the voice made its suggestion in _French_.

"Hell, no," I whispered.

And opened my eyes.

Lee was standing in front of me, hands on hips, one eyebrow raised. Behind her, some of the Gryffindor players suggested she join them for a shower, but she didn't seem to hear them; she was concentrating on me.

She looked good, I should add. Her hair was wildly curly around her face, and her cheeks were still pink from the wind. She was still in her quidditch gear, but it suited her, even down to the mud splatters. Also, the fact that she was nearly in tears made her eyes look much bigger and bluer.

"I cannot _believe_ you," she hissed. "I cannot!"

"What the hell is the problem now?" I groaned. "Why is it so difficult to get away from you girls?"

Lee looked set to slap me. "I tried _so_ hard." She said icily. "I tried _so_ hard to act like it was all alright- I thought _you_ could do the same."

"What?" I gaped, "what did I do now?"

"What you _didn't_ do," she snarled, "was keep your mouth shut. So the question is 'what did you _say_'?"

Shit.

"Lee," I leant forwards, hands outstretched, "that wasn't my fault. It was an accident. I didn't mean to talk about your brother….."

"Accident!" she hissed. "Do you talk in your sleep? Lily came up and _hugged_ me before. She told me that she wouldn't let my father do to me what he did to Raoulf."

I had forgotten Lily was intelligent. Of course she had figured it out.

"What I can't understand," Lee was saying now, "is why you told them?"

"Them?"

"Everybody!" She cried, flinging her hands in the air. "All of the year knows now. Did you think I wanted you to share my life with the masses?" Her eyes flashed black. "And do you know what they're _saying_?"

The whole year knew?

"That can't be right." I assured her. "I told Lily, but nobody else knew."

"Lee?" James' voice seemed to come from a long way off, "Lee, why are you in here, you're distracting the team. Is this some new tactic?" He sounded joking, but I was shocked to see the sympathy in his eyes.

"Oh, _mon dieu_!" she shouted. "I am so sick of you all! Are English people so incapable of _pretending_ to be in the dark?"

James opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it. It didn't matter, anyway, because Lee was already gone, storming out of the locker room at a hundred miles an hour. I watched, shell shocked.

"Black?" I turned to James, who was looking at me expectantly, "well, bloody go after her, Sirius!"

I followed his advice, dogging her steps as she dodged through the crowd. But she was too fast for me. Much too fast. Finally, I lucked out, crashing into somebody.

"Get out of my way, Snivellus," I snapped, kicking his papers across the ground.

Severus sneered up at me. "Are you in a rush? Looking for your girlfriend, I guess."

"Shut up, you insignificant piece of crap." I paused, "you know where she is?"

He sneered again. "Why would I know? The person you should ask is your _brother_." His voice was laced with significance,

"I swear, Snivellus, I will rip out your teeth. Where is Lee?"

"I told you." He smiled, "she's with Reg. You didn't see _that_ one coming, did you?"

Defeated, I left him there, and trudged up to the common room. When I saw Lily, my rage was reignited. "Stupid! You're such a gossip! What part of 'don't tell' was too complicated, huh, Lily? Let me know so I can simplify the wording for future reference."

"Huh?" Lily looked confused. With a worried frown, she closed the book she was reading and stood to talk to me. "Sirius, I didn't tell anybody!"

"Well, everybody knows." I shrugged, a vicious smile carved into my face. "Watch this, hey, can anybody tell me, what's up with Lee?" the common room looked up at my shout.

"Haven't you heard about her brother yet?" somebody asked.

I looked at Lily, who paled. "I didn't say _anything_." She whispered.

But I wasn't listening. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Quickly, I turned back to the kid who'd answered me. "Heard what, exactly?"

He shrugged. "Common knowledge now, I guess. She wasn't expelled for sleeping with a teacher. They found her with her _brother_, her twin, _in bed_. Then, he was so embarrassed, he committed suicide, and she ran away. That's the real story behind the legend." He shook his head. "Bloody French."

In a second, I had him by the collar, and had lifted him up against the wall. "That," I said calmly, "is complete crap. You shouldn't make stuff like that up, you know. It offends people. Like me, for instance. I'm offended."

"I didn't make it up!" he squealed, "sure as hell, I just heard it before."

"Who from?" I asked menacingly. He whimpered. "Who from, and by god I will curse your testes off if you do not answer in the next five seconds." I snarled, shoving him harder against the wall.

"Sirius!" James was at my side in an instant. "Put the kid down, Sirius!"

He wrestled me away from the idiot, and I felt a sense of loss. I shrugged off his hands and swung around to face him. My anger surfaced suddenly, bubbling up inside of me, and I shoved James instead, pushing him away from me.

"Prongs, you don't understand." I growled. "If you'd heard the _filth_ coming out of his mouth just then, you would be beating him up with me."

James' expression was serious. Lily walked up to him, and he put an arm around her. She was crying, "I think I know what he said, padfoot," James said softly, "but he only heard it from someone. It's not him you should be angry at."

"Give me a person, then!" I snarled, "I swear, if you knew how bad she was hurting over this…"

"I _know_, Sirius," James told me calmly, "I know. Now, what we need to work out is who could have overheard you talking to Lily?"

I considered. "We were at a match, there were heaps of people." I said weakly, my mind whirling. All I could think about was Lee- the look on her face when she'd first told me about her brother, and the look on her face when the entire school had perverted the story.

"You might need to be a bit more specific." James counselled, stroking Lily's hair.

"Remus was beside us," she sniffled. "And there were two girls in front, but they were talking the whole time, they didn't hear anything."

"And Remus wouldn't make that stuff up," I pointed out. And then something occurred to me. "Peter was sitting behind us."

James looked skeptical. Even through his sympathy, he looked annoyed. He hated it when anybody accused his friends. Even me. "Peter? Come on, Sirius."

"James, think about it. He _always_ exaggerates."

"Yeah," James nodded. "But he wouldn't do that to Lee. She's his friend. It wasn't Peter."

There was something final in the way he said that, so I held back from saying what I was thinking, even though I knew it to be the truth;

_She was never his friend._


	21. Chapter 21

_I know it's been forever, so bear with me......this is a little rushed, but i thought it had been too long....._

_keep up with the reviews, thanks!!_

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There is something supremely cool about a girl who, at the tender age of thirteen, sleeps with a teacher, and then rebelliously runs away from school, disappearing into Eastern Europe for three months.

There is something truly disgusting and creepy about a 13year old girl who screws her brother's brains out, and then, after he commits suicide, buggers off.

Lee had been a legend. She was cool, rebellious, intelligent and sexy.

Lee _had_ been a legend. She was an incestuous, inbred creep.

"…..and then, even though they were brother and sister…they……"

"I know! And you know what else, their parents were brother and sister too!"

"So, sort of like your parents, then?"

The third year turned around. I waited for him to cower.

Instead, he lifted his chin and sniffed, "so," smiled, "you realise that by using that against me like its an insult only proves that you think it is disgusting, too."

"I might if it were true." I told him coldly, "now, I think that's quite enough for one evening, junior. Would you like me to take you to the toilet before bed time?"

The third year laughed.

"I'm flattered, really, I am. But I wouldn't feel safe turning my back on you in the toilet."

His friends snigged.

_Fun_, I thought, _it bites back_.

"What?" I asked, "worried I'd do the world a favour and bash your head in? You needn't worry, sweetheart, the girls toilets have locks on the doors, to give you privacy, preserve your feminine decency, so to speak."

"I suppose you'd know," he shrugged. _Weak_, I thought, _just going to chuck my own insults back at me, are you?_, "you're actually being quite rude, you know. But don't worry, I forgive you. You're just upset because you finally realised that you're not your dream-girl's type. She prefers immediate family members."

I writhed internally, but, maintaining my cool, simply treated the bastard to some Black superiority.

"I hate to burst your bubble, junior," I said, as archly as I could, "but I don't really feel that way about your mother."

By now, we had an audience. Behind me, the sixth years were sniggering, and a group of third year girls watched the boy intently.

"Oh," he said, and I saw his eyes flash, "well, I'm upset. I may cry myself to sleep every night, wishing I had Sirius Black as a father, considering how he's such a wonderful brother….."

I restrained myself admirably, I thought, "well, bad luck for you, but you're not my son. If you were, I would have drowned you at birth, to save your future husband the trouble. "

The boy was grasping at straws as his posse tittered, "husband?" he gaped, "I've told you once, and I'll tell you again, Black, I 'm not interested in you."

Perfect opening, "wait, so now I'm your husband _and_ your father? _Now_ who's incestuous?"

He frowned, so I pressed my advantage,

"Oh, wipe that expression off of your face. Nobody likes a girl who looks like she's sucking on a lemon! I'm sorry for being so harsh on you, but, in future, cupcake, would you mind leaving me out of the sick, twisted fantasies you play over and over again in your head? They make me feel slightly violated."

Open laughter now, from our spectators.

"Sirius?"

Annika sauntered up behind me, drawing dreamy looks from the third year boys.

"Hey," I smiled at her, "be right there, I'm just educating this little lady in the way of the world," I turned back to the kid, expression totally serious, "here are the basics for you, sweet cheeks. The stronger ones make the rules; the weaker ones follow them. Every now and then, one of those weaker ones breaks away from the pack, avoids all the bigger ones who are trying to crush it, and becomes a stronger one. You are not one of those. So sit tight and keep a weather eye on the horizon, because one day, if you _do_ get a chance to be one of the 'strong ones' (I doubt it), you're going to need as many friends as you can get. So I wouldn't pick any fights with me. Not just yet."

There was a very hostile silence, not at all as cowed as I had imagined, and then Annika laughed, "enough playing around, Sirius," she grinned, "come on, now. You don't want to break their spirits completely, they'd be no fun."

I allowed her to tug me away, and didn't say _anything_ when she waggled her fingers at them in farewell.

Am I not the epitome of self control?

"What in the blood hell did you do that for?" I snapped, as soon as we were out of earshot.

Annika shrugged, "it wasn't going anywhere, you'd said all that you could. And I didn't want to wait around for half an hour while you traded insults like, 'well, you smell funny', or ' my hair is nicer than your hair'."

She had a valid point.

"Still," I complained, "on principle….."

"Get over it," Annika sighed, "you just wanted a chance to be prince charming. Don't bother, because she wasn't paying attention."

Huh?

"Huh?"

Annika rolled her eyes, looking supremely irritated, "Sirius," she snarled, "are you so completely idiotic? Did you really not notice that she was there?"

Who was where?

"Huh?"

"Lee! Oh, for god's sake, Sirius! I have _no_ idea how your mind works, but tell you what, it isn't normal. Are you truly telling me that you kicked up that _huge_ fuss, just for the sake of it? Are you saying that you didn't _know_ she was there?"

I hadn't, either. I had been vaguely aware of different spectators, but really, was I expected to identify one random face in the crowd?

"Well, if you're arguing _about_ that random face, yeah," was Annika's irritated answer when I voiced this, "I assumed you were trying to show your devotion to your friendship, or something."

In a way, I actually had been, I realised now. I had been hoping that, somebody there close to Lee or not, would relay the tale of my brilliant and brave defence of her honour. I hadn't dared hope for Lee herself to witness, but then….

"You say she wasn't paying attention?" I prompted, and Annika smiled.

"it was beautiful to watch. She was walking past, chatting with some Slytherin boy, and when she heard her name mentioned, she glanced up, rolled her eyes and said, pretty loudly, "isn't it just sad what some people make up for revenge?" just like that."

I was confused, "revenge? She said that?"

Annika nodded, combing through her hair. I was at a loss.

"Yeah, she's hanging around with the Slytherins more, now. Like, she was with that Elspeth Grimshaw before. And I saw Black talking to her in the hall before."

It always amused me how people would refer to Reg as 'Black' to me, as though we were separate entities. Now, however, I was a bit preoccupied, "ok, so she's not with Lily?"

Annika shook her head, "no, they had a massive big fight. Like, epic proportions."

Annika was nothing if not a constant stream of gossip.

I learnt more in the next two minutes than I would have in a day of research. Lee had skipped breakfast that morning, Lily had sought her out and found her by the lake. They had spoken civilly, if slightly coldly, until Lily burst into tears and apologised about her brother, which had started an amazingly vicious screaming match which had several teenage boys hopefully anticipating some girl-on-girl wrestling.

_I_ had been hiding in my dorm for the past two days, and so had missed most of the drama, which apparently climaxed with said fight.

I regretted that somewhat now.

Annika had laced her fingers through mine, now, and was leading me along the hall. When I asked her where we were going, she muttered something about idiots and neglected to elaborate in any useful manner.

I found I didn't _really _mind all that much.

……..

I honestly have no idea how to continue from here. My quill is hovering above the paper, ready to write, and yet the most I have done in the past hour is dip it again and again in the ink well, and resumed position.

Just before, perhaps an hour and a half ago, we were all eating dinner, Remus, was there, Alistair, too, and some idiot (probably Alistair, come to think of it) brought up members of the order who'd died, and I spent the conversation with my fingernails digging so far into the palms of my hand that I almost broke the skin.

Of course, I couldn't escape notice forever, and so, when Alistair thoughtlessly announced _her_ name…..well. You can imagine.

Molly stiffened a little, and Remus almost ate his fork along with his next mouthful.

Of course, to make things _more_ awkward, Alistair noticed our expressions, that insane eye whizzing about in his head to focus on us, and frowned.

"Honestly, Sirius," he huffed (which suggested that my face looked a little less than composed), "can you still not talk about her? Probably time you got over _that_, boy. Too many years have gone by for you to mourn her now."

I tried very hard to keep my temper, I even continued to cut a little piece of steak on my plate, "yes, well, Alistair," I said, not trying to sound hearty, "I only found out she was….gone…. two years ago. We didn't really have much access to obituaries down in Azkaban."

It was incredibly quiet. Everybody else seemed to have heard the distinctive '_leave it alone!' _note in my voice. But Alistair was never very good at picking up subtle hints.

He shrugged gruffly, "yes, well. When you think about it, you'd have reckoned that you'd gotten over her before she went, anyway. _She_ left _you_, wasn't that how it went?"

The silence that followed was incredibly awkward.

Molly, good naturedly, I suppose, brightly announced, "pudding for desert!" an inane comment which everybody ignored (thankfully).

"Yeah, that was how it went," I snapped back at Alistair, "but I suppose that I can look back on those days with one thing to comfort me……at least I had somebody there to begin with!"

Alistair's eyes narrowed, and I felt a little thrill of satisfaction; I still had the ability to make people squirm.

"Sirius." Remus cautioned, and rightly so. I ignored him. So did Alistair.

"Well," he said calmly, "that put me in my place. Now you just have me _wishing_ that I'd done exactly what you did and found myself a nice little 'girlfriend' who didn't want to marry me, moved in, fought constantly, knocked her up and then done something so _terrible_ that she'd leave. _That_ would have been the way to go."

Arthur cleared his throat, "come on now, Alistair, that was a little uncalled for. You too, Sirius. Just stop it, both of you."

"Uncalled for?" Alistair snorted, "Arthur, I don't care what this clown says about me, but when he acts all offended when people bring up _her_ name, well, that just irritates me. We all saw her face that night. Whatever he did to her pretty much forfeits any right he has to grieve."

Molly pursed her lips, "that is ridiculous. Alistair, just stop it."

"Why?" he snorted, "she was a student of mine, wasn't she? I knew her well. Clever girl. Had everything going for her, didn't she? And still, she dies, not even 30years old, alone and unloved, with a blooming kid, for crying out loud. None of us knew where she was, or even knew she was gone until they called us up and told us, and that was _months_ later."

I didn't really need to hear all this, so I stood up, and Alistair glared at me, "you going somewhere, boy?" he snarled, and I remembered him saying the same thing to me, almost two decades back, "because I will tolerate just about everything except a man turning his back on a fight, and this one's been coming for a while now."

So, predictably goaded, I turned back, "oh yeah?" I hissed, "do your worst."

Alistair leant forwards, looking me in the eye, "don't need to, do I?" he asked nonchalantly, "the past speaks for itself. Your girl died thinking you were a lying murderer, cause whatever you did to her was so bad that she felt she could expect the worst, and you have two living relatives, one who wants you dead, and the other, your own _child_ hasn't even seen your face."

There was very little I could say, and when Alistair leant forwards again, I simply braced myself.

"And," he added, "she doesn't know who you are, because her mother _never_ told her your name."

I was across the table with my hands around his throat in barely a second. Of course everybody else simply moved out of the way and _let_ me punch him, but once was enough, and then I was back on my feet.

"I _never_ meant to hurt her, alright?" I shouted at him, "you know what she was like, if somebody took a step to the left, she'd run a mile to the right, she _constantly_ overreacted. What I did," I paused, "what I did was wrong. Both times. But you tell me that it was fair for her to, to _disappear_ like that without giving me a second chance and I swear I'll punch you again. We always _knew_ it would end badly, and if it did then that was my fault, but I'll tell you one thing now." I was shaking with rage by now and nobody was trying to calm me down, "we _loved_ each other so much, so bloody much, that even when we were fighting we could _feel_ each other. We were at each other's throats all the time, but everything we did, we did with more _passion_ than any other couple in the order managed. If we hated, we loved 100times as much, and I dare any of you to deny it."

I felt Arthur's hand on my arm, "nobody would, Sirius," he said quietly.

"And for that reason," I said, my voice breaking, "for that reason I don't believe what you say, Moody. No matter what anybody else said, she would _never_ have believed that I killed Lily and James, and if she never told our daughter my name, then she told her something else. You talk to that child and mark my words, she'll say something to you that'll make you see that somewhere along the line, some mark was made, and she might not know my name, but she will know _me._"

I was panting pretty heavily by then, and I had a good idea that I was probably pale, but flushed, and knowing me, my eyes were probably shining dramatically.

Thinking that, I had to suppress a grimace, knowing that once I would have looked handsome and impassioned, but now I only looked like a drug addict craving his next fix.

I wondered if _she_ would have recognised me, would have taken me back when I left Azkaban, like I'd believed she would. I'd imagined getting out, finding her and just holding her.

Only, naturally, we never would have done anything as tender as simply embraced. More likely we'd be clutching at each other in our desperation to be close.

But would it have been like that.

After all, I wasn't so handsome any more.

Even as that little bit of self pity crossed my mind I looked out at these people, the only people I'd seen since I got out, really, my _friends_, and I finally recognised that common emotion in their eyes.

It was pity.

After my outburst, they didn't respect me, or even understand.

They _pitied_ me, the way you do crazy people or animals in pain, just before you put them out of their misery.

I _hate_ pity.

I left.

…………………..

It was Lily's fault that I felt I should apologise.

See, Lee wasn't talking to Lily any more, and Lily wasn't talking to me, Remus wasn't talking to anybody which I thought was ridiculous, seeing as nobody had done or said anything to or about him. Obviously, Lee wasn't talking to me, and I wasn't talking to Peter, and Peter wouldn't bloody shut up, which meant that he was literally the only one talking.

Every now and then, James would come out with something, but it was always either ridiculously terse or entirely immature, which meant it was basically _never_ appreciated, so he learnt to shut up.

Annika thought we were all interesting just to watch, and would stare at us for hours, as though we were some odd exhibit in a museum.

Anyway. Lily's fault.

So, after a week and a bit of nobody talking, everybody had a headache, which really made very little sense, but, who cares. We were also trying to avoid each other, but that never seemed to work very well, as we all had the same haunts, being friends.

So it wasn't too much of a surprise when I came across Lily in a secluded corner by the lake.

What _was_ a surprise was that she was bawling her eyes out.

She didn't ever explain _why_ to me, even though she must've known that I'd seen her, seeing as my natural grace had momentarily deserted me, and while backing away I'd tripped, sprained my ankle and required medical care. But it didn't matter, because it was pretty obvious what would have her crying like that, and I knew that, in a way, it was my fault.

I'd been toying with the idea of making amends for the entire week and a half, seeing as Lee was bloody everywhere, lounging around with the Slytherins or the Ravenclaws, the very definition of versatility. She looked wonderful. Her hair was longer quite suddenly (either that or I just hadn't noticed it growing) and she laughed a lot, but since I knew her, I also knew that it was all a pretence, designed to demonstrate that she wasn't at all affected by what everybody else said. Not in the slightest.

So, I knew she was feeling rather fragile, and I knew there was very little time before she disappeared for good, a fact which still hadn't hit me completely yet.

Anyway, soon after the Lily incident, I was sitting with Frank Longbottom when Lee and her posse of SLytherins walked past.

She didn't even look at me, and Frank whistled through his teeth.

"ouch," he said with a well-meaning grin, "you two really aren't getting along, are you?"

I scoffed at this understatement, but Frank, being easygoing, didn't take offence. He just shrugged and smiled again.

"It _is_ a pity, though," he said, "because you two were so _awesome_ together." I raised an eyebrow and he nodded, "yeah. You fought like all hell, cats and dogs all the way, but geez were you stylish about it; everybody knew you had some kind of connection, like she never had with anybody else. And there was _always_ this practically tangible attraction. People used to imagine your children. Pretty good looking they'd be, too. And with a lineage behind them like nobody's business."

I frowned, "I have a girlfriend." I told him.

He shrugged, "yeah, but who did you look at when they both went past? Who do you _always_ look at? Not that I blame you, I mean," he whistled again, "she's amazing." Now he frowned, "couldn't believe that stuff about her brother. I mean, Lee's crazy, but that……" he shook his head, and I heard him saying _'you had some kind of connection, like she never had with anybody else'_ again.

And while Frank kept talking, I remembered Lee's eyes as she'd said _'e killed 'imself. 'Zat night, 'e killed 'imself'_.

And then, not caring what it was that Frank had been saying, I interrupted with, "I wish I'd never started that rumour."

Frank frowned, stopping mid-sentence, "huh?"

I met his eyes, part of me screaming that I should shut up, "that rumour? I regret it so much now. I can't believe that I said that, but hey, young kid with his pride hurt? What do you expect?"

Frank frowned, "wait, _you_ made that stuff up?"

I nodded, leaning back, "oh, ages ago. I guess somebody remembered it or mentioned it and it got spread around like that," I hooked my ankles behind the wall, ignoring Frank's look of disgust, keeping my eyes fixed on Lee's curls flying out everywhere as she kept walking away, not looking back, "it was back when we really hated each other. I asked her out, and she turned me down, you know, just after that kiss thing. I'd heard she had a brother, so I kind of mentioned that to somebody, don't even remember who, and then I just said something dumb like 'she probably screwed herself dry on him, and _that's_ why she's such an ice queen.' You know those French'"

Frank looked revolted, "Sirius I can't believe you!" he exclaimed, "that you'd do that to somebody is just horrible."

I shrugged, "it got really out of hand, I know. I just wish everybody knew I'd made it up."

By nightfall, they did, and I was a pariah like you wouldn't believe.

I didn't mind so much, because I'd gone to that spot by the lake again, and I'd heard crying, but when I looked in, Lily wasn't by herself.

She was hugging someone with long blonde curls and a mean French accent.

…………..

Somebody knocked on my door a few minutes ago, and I didn't say anything.

No permission to enter granted.

They came in anyway.

"Didn't your mother teach you to……" I stopped. It was Remus.

He sat down gingerly on the edge of Reg's bed, and I waited.

He bounced a little bit, up and down, and bunched the quilt in his hands.

"That'll crease," I pointed out with a frown, "are you here to make me feel better, because I'm not in the mood for sympathy. Especially not from you."

Remus smiled at me, "oh, I know." His smile went a little wider then, and he laughed, but he wasn't looking at me any more.

"Do you remember," he asked suddenly, "the pie?"

I knew what he meant, of course.

It was quite near the end of the war, and everybody was insanely stressed, which everybody showed in different ways. _She_ showed it by being even more bitingly caustic than usual, and by cooking, which was in a roundabout way, a way for her to punish all of us.

One night, Remus turned up. I don't remember what had happened, but he was flustered, and somehow, we got into a fight. _She_ had made this lovely dinner, which was a surprise, which was to climax in this wonderful apple pie she'd spent a lifetime cooking, but she'd left for a moment, for some girl thing, i don't know what, and Remus and I had gotten into a massive argument.

We didn't see or hear her come back in. In fact, the first sign we had of her presence was when that wonderful pie abruptly began to swell, and then, absurdly, exploded, showering us with cinnamon scented apple pieces.

She was standing in the doorway, looking absolutely bored.

We gaped at her, with filling and pastry running down her faces, and she lifted her wand again, "shut," she said, pointing it at Remus, "up," moving it to me.

And then, we'd all started laughing and trying to clean the pie off of ourselves, and she'd smeared whipped cream on my nose, because she'd made it specially for the pie, and I'd smeared it on her, because she was a 'sweetie pie' and we'd finished up kissing it off of each others' faces, laughing the whole time.

"Yes, I remember the pie." I sighed. I could hear her laughing still, feel her lips brush my cheek.

Remus was quiet for a moment. I suppose her laugh was ringing in his ears, too.

Finally, he said, "you don't know this, but when….when she died, I went to France to see her." he scoffed, "I was unemployed, like normal, so I thought I had nothing to lose. Of course, when I got there, I realised I couldn't go through with it. Couldn't see her. Everybody was coming out with all this stuff about her….how she'd disappeared by stopping with magic and living as a muggle. How she'd moved all the time, trying to stop being found," he took a deep breath, "how she'd left a kid, a little girl behind. I couldn't see the body, but I _knew_ I had to see the child. I had to see her for myself. So, I went along to the house. By then, Malfoy had already won custody, but he hadn't arrived yet, so I persuaded her carer to let me take her for a walk."

Remus smiled wistfully and I felt a stab of envy. Not only had he been at _her_ funeral, but he'd spent more time with my daughter than I had.

"She was like a little doll, Sirius. Six years old and already beautiful. All this hair, like you wouldn't believe. They'd plaited it for her, but as soon as we left the house, she made me take it out. And of course, she just kept looking at me with these huge eyes…….your eyes, Sirius."

There was a very long pause. I didn't know what to say, mostly because I could not believe what I was hearing.

Remus sighed and continued, "anyway, she was so highly strung, aloof, I suppose, for almost the whole walk. She held my hand, but she didn't want to, you could tell. I was wondering whether I'd done the right thing, because it wasn't helping her, and it sure as hell wasn't doing a thing for me. I'd see that hair and think of _her_, and she'd turn around and I'd think I would get a respite, but she'd just look up at me with your eyes and I'd squirm," he paused, "and then, we passed this dog park, and she started squinting around, looking for something. I offered to let us walk through it, so we did, but by the end, she was in tears. I sat her down on this bench and asked her what was wrong. I wiped all the tears from her eyes and stroked her hair, but she didn't talk for ages," Remus stopped again, and when he started to talk once more, his voice was shaky, "when she did, she told me that she was sad because she couldn't see the dog."

My throat was strangely dry, "dog?"

Remus smiled, "she couldn't see the dog. The big dog, the black dog. Of course, I was confused, and a little apprehensive. Why did she want to see a dog? And then Estelle, your daughter, just looked up at me with these huge eyes and said, 'the big black dog isn't just _any_ dog. Maman said that when I saw the big black dog, I'd know that my father was watching over me.'"

Neither of us spoke, and I realised I was crying.

I was crying, I think, not because of my wasted life and my wasted dreams.

I was crying because of a six year old girl sitting on a bench in France, wanting to see a black dog that would tell her that her father loved her.

Did you ever see that dog, Estelle?

Or, after a while, did you stop looking?

When Remus left, he paused at the door, just looking at me and said, "I treasure that memory, Sirius, and I know that you know why. But I shared it with you now, so you would know," his voice broke again, "so that you would know that no matter what anybody said about you, no matter what you did or what she heard, she loved you. Right until the end."

.............

Lee was on top of the astronomy tower. Or, rather, she was directly to the left of the astronomy tower, having clambered up onto the nearby roof instead.

I followed her, and realised for the first time how athletic she must actually be, considering the amount of strength needed to swing oneself up onto the ledge above, clamber along the tiles and perform a minor balancing act to walk over to the place where she had made herself comfortable.

Once I arrived, I promptly collapsed.

"You should 'ave used 'ze balcony."

"Huh?" I was mostly shocked that she had spoken at all, and after that, she was silent for so long a time that I wondered whether I had imagined it.

" 'Ze balcony? Eef you move along 'zere, you can swing onto 'zis spot without trouble." Lee hadn't turned to face me yet, but sat hugging her knees to her chest.

I copied her, wondering where this was actually going to go, and why I had bothered.

"What are you doing?" I asked quietly, watching her stare intently at, well, nothing I could see.

Lee sighed and shifted her foot a little, "watching 'ze colours change."

I wondered what she meant, even when she lifted a languid hand and gestured rather limply at the sky.

And then I realised.

"I like 'ze way it shifts from orange to blue, wi'zout any streaks. Like it was painted by somebody."

"Raoulf?" I asked, and then mentally kicked myself several times.

"No," Lee's voice was hard, "not like Raoulf. 'E liked streaks in 'is paintings, thought 'eet made things seem more _raw_. 'Zat is, when 'e wasn't painting pictures of me naked." Her voice grew extremely thin and sarcastic on this last sentence, which is, after all, to be expected, considering.

"Lee, I know you don't believe me, but I am sorry." I said quietly, "I thought that Lily knew, and when I realised that she didn't…….."

"See 'ow 'ze light is different now?" Lee asked blandly, "in France, we call 'zis ''ze blue hour', when every'ting is bathed in blue."

That was just the kind of ridiculous and idiotic thing which Lee would come up with. Women, I realised at that moment, are ridiculous. Did she expect me to come up with an answer to that? Everything is bathed in blue? What am I supposed to say without sounding either wankerish or idiotic.

"Oh," I nodded pensively, "so it is,"

Lee didn't even bother to shoot me one of her exasperated glances, which indicated that my answer had been even more pathetic than I'd realised.

Since Lee was sitting in front of me, I couldn't really see her face so well, although every now and then she would tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and I'd catch a glimpse of her profile.

What I could see was that she was hugging her knees to herself almost as though she were scared or upset, even if she didn't sound like she was either of those things. Also, she was barefoot.

"Don't you think you should be wearing shoes?" I asked her, without even thinking about it.

" 'Eef I thought 'zat, wouldn't I be wearing 'zem?" Lee countered almost immediately.

Fair enough.

"Listen, Black," she sighed, running a hand through her hair, "I don't think 'zat I 'ave time for your guilty speeches and 'eartfelt apologies," there was more disdain packed into that then I had thought humanly possible, but then her voice grew slightly dangerous, no longer contempt touched with affection, but more serious mocking, "so here, to make you feel better, I will tell you 'ow 'zis will go, and you can just pretend 'zat 'eet happened." She sighed and recited boredly, "you will give a long and passionate speech about why you are _sorry_, as though 'eet makes a difference. I will be angry and possibly try to push you off of 'ze roof. I will 'zen give _my_ long speech about 'ow you 'ave betrayed my trust an' hurt me, blah blah blah."

There was a pause, but I knew there was more. Hell, I could tell what was going to happen next if we went down that road.

"And after 'zat, I will try to hit you, and you will probably grab my wrist or some'zing, and 'zen we will end making out on 'ze shingles, 'ere, until you feel guilty about Annika, blame _me_ for 'ze entire thing, and 'zen storm off again."

Again, being a woman, Lee had insisted on making a speech I couldn't possibly have an answer for, and consequently, I was silent.

Lee, however, had a lovely segue to bring us back to polite conversation.

"So, to save us both some embarrassment, and also physical discomfort," she paused and added maliciously, "I am not _slighting_ your kissing, Black, so much as commenting on 'ze fact that a roof is not a good place for sex." Unsure, I decided to stick with a nod of acknowledgement, "so, you should leave me to sit 'ere for a while, and later, after about 10minutes so Annika won't be upset, I may come down as well."

_Sounds like a good plan_, the cowardly part of me thought, _now get off of the bloody roof!_

Perhaps, mysterious somebody, if I had listened to my cowardly part, this story would have ended differently, and somehow happily, but, as it was, that same cowardly part that advocated leaving (and quickly!) was slightly daunted by the idea of jumping off of the roof, and so I stayed put.

"No, Lee," I began, "come on, we need to settle this."

"We '_ave_ settled 'eet," Lee said flatly, "we just did."

I scoffed, "oh, yeah. That little speech was _really_ productive. Sorted everything out. _Now_ we have closure."

"Don't be a child," Lee spat at me, " 'eef you 'ave some'zing to say, just say 'eet."

Fine, I thought. Only, _did_ I have something to say? Personally, I wasn't 100% sure about it. Still, Lee was waiting, and the only thing worse than having her hate me was losing her respect, which was what would happen if I waited too long to answer, or didn't answer at all.

So, softly, I said, "listen, Lee," I took a deep breath. _Bravery, man!_ My cowardly part urged happily. Easy for it to say, "I think you know how sorry I am." She sniffed and I continued, "I say that I think you know, because, frankly, if you _didn't_ think I was sorry, I think you would have pushed me off of the roof by now."

Lee didn't nod, but then I didn't really expect her to.

I continued, "so, you know I'm sorry, and hell, I've learnt my lesson," her back stiffened, and the word MISTAKE flashed across my eyes. Quickly, I continued. If I couldn't do this properly, I'd at least finish before she could blast me, "but me being sorry isn't all that important in the scheme of things. What _is_ important is that me and you, sorry, you and _I_, have a, well, pretty unique relationship, and we shouldn't lose it."

She looked like she was getting ready to talk. I forestalled her, "and yes, I _know_ that it generally is me who screws things up, but hey, nobody's perfect, and this time, I think, seeing as you're leaving, we should make another go of it. After all, as fun as this 'simmering rage' thing that we have going is, we don't have the time for it. You're leaving in a few weeks. We should try to be at least _amicable_ before you disappear forever."

There was a long pause, which meant that I had either done brilliantly or ruined any chance I had of winning her friendship. The odds were even.

And then, remarkably, Lee sighed, her shoulders relaxing, and looked over her shoulder at me.

A part of me wondered if it would be more dramatic if she were crying, and then decided no, because then it wouldn't be dramatic so much as ridiculous.

Besides, she looked so pretty there, smiling at me with her hair just everywhere, and that blue light she'd mentioned before enveloping her. I realised then what she'd meant when she'd said that. I wouldn't have changed a thing.

She took a deep breath and grinned, "amicable?" she asked, "well, to be frank, I'd rather be complete enemies or very good friends…it's more fun 'zat way."

I stayed where I was, jamming my hands in my pockets to keep from ruffling her hair, knowing that would probably lead to the aforementioned roof-snogging, which, although sounding rather appealing, was probably not a good idea.

"Girl," I winked, "we would _make_ being amicable fun."

She smiled wryly and I wondered if there was anybody so pretty in the world. Probably not.

And then I realised that those thoughts weren't _good_ thoughts, and so, I swung off of the roof and almost broke my back.

I heard Lee's laugh above me, and saw her head swing down to stare, her pretty hair falling everywhere.

Of course, when she jumped down, she landed perfectly. I snorted.

"I can pee standing up," I told her when she looked so smug, and she raised an eyebrow in disdain.

"I envy you _so_ much." She drawled.

And so I tugged her hair and she laughed, and we raced each other back down to the common room and I realised in that moment that, universally hated as I was, it didn't matter, because I had the friends that mattered to me.

That would do.

For now.


	22. Chapter 22

When the day finally came for Lee's special celebration, we were all reasonably keen to get started, especially considering that Lee had schooled us carefully in how it was to go down, and we now felt like we were part of her own special secret society, or something, despite our best efforts to appear cool and unconcerned.

It was one of her better-laid plans.

We used the flu network, naturally. You would think that it had been blocked off, I suppose, and indeed, in most rooms, it had. But Lee, clever Lee, had discovered a way around that.

She_ thought_ that it used to be a teachers lounge of some sort. It certainly looked it, with plush armchairs and portraits of old professors lining the wall.

They weren't a problem, Lee explained, because they all dozed, constantly, without a care for the world around them. She announced that she had tried a number of tricks to wake them (she had an odd sort of smile as she said that, and to this day I wonder what she did), but nothing would, and even so, as a precaution she would spell blindfolds onto their sleeping faces. Perfect.

The lounge itself? She asked us. Well, it was deserted, because it was the favourite haunt of a rather cranky old ghost. Professor Binns so loved the lounge that he spent a great deal of his time there. Surely more than enough of a deterrent for anybody who considered going inside. However, Lee had cased the joint and learnt that, just before lights out, Professor Binns was fond of a last patrol of the corridors, which he would stick at for half an hour. Plenty of time.

And when the time came for us to return? Well, simple enough problem, that one. We would return during first period the next day. Even I was impressed with that one. Binns would be teaching, and the lot of us were so often late for class that nobody bothered to chastise us any more at all. Even more brilliant; first period on Monday mornings we were all in different classes. James and I had Care of Magical Creatures, Lily had a free period. Lee had potions. Wonderful. Everybody would think we were simply recovering from the weekend. Nobody would know, or even notice one student sneaking back into class. A group would have been too obvious, but several different teachers each with one student late? It would go unnoticed. So it would go as such; Flu network to Lee's house, where we would get ready, then apparation to her destination of choice, then apparation back to Lee's, where we would revive ourselves if necessary (it would be necessary) and then Flu network back to school. Not at the same time, mind, but in a sort of relay race.

We were all excited, despite ourselves. Lee had made the entire thing up to be some kind of adventure, even when all we were doing was skipping out of school, and not even for long.

And then, despite the build up, when the time came, Lee greeted us all with complete disdain and nonchalance, as though it was nothing out of the norm.

"Hello." She said plainly, "you're early."

"So are you," I answered, and she shook her head.

"I haven't really arrived yet," she told me and James, "I'm on my way to my room. I need to get my purse."

James frowned, looking a little bit apprehensive, "that's not good," he told me seriously, "when they say that, it means that they'll be _at least_ another hour. At least."

Lee, already walking off, gave a radiant grin and blew him a kiss.

Pathetically, I felt momentarily envious.

James let out a low whistle, "you know," he said, "I love Lily with all my heart, and she is the sweetest thing in the world. But," he shook his head in disbelief, "_that_ one? She's irresistible. It's like she's our own drug. Hell, if I wasn't in love with Lily, tell you what. I'd be all over her. But, no, she's not my type."

"Your type being Lily," I supposed out loud.

James nodded, "and your type being, well, everybody. And you being everybody's type." He frowned thoughtfully, "kind of like Lee. She's basically your female counterpart."

I snorted, "you're funny, James."

But he shook his head, "I'm being serious, my friend."

I grinned and opened my mouth. James covered it.

"Don't say it!" he insisted.

"Say what?" I asked innocently, and James met my eyes sternly.

"So am I." he said, in a fair imitation of my voice.

Damn. He knew me too well.

"It really is a pity that Moony won't be joining us," James reflected now. I nodded sadly, though really, what Remus would do at a nightclub was beyond me.

Peter wasn't mentioned. He hadn't been invited. Lee didn't like him much.

James had tried to speak up for him, but Lee had fixed him with a smoldering glare which stopped him in his tracks.

"If he comes," Lee said calmly, "I will cut off his dick and attach it to your nose."

James had been fascinated, "really?"

"No," Lee shrugged, "you couldn't tell it was a joke? I mean, Pettigrew having a dick….that's pretty funny, don't you think?"

I'd scoffed, and copped a glare from James, who was faultlessly loyal, and Lily, who was the most compassionate human being on the planet.

Lee had miraculously avoided being hated.

Annika also wasn't coming.

Lee had given me permission to invite her, and I had 'forgotten'.

James thought that was a bit suss, but in fact, I was acting only out of affection for Lee, who did _not_ really click too well with Annika. I think they were far too similar.

So, when Lily arrived, we knew it was almost time, even if we couldn't fathom why she was wearing jeans and a jumper, as opposed to something short and sexy (James was extremely disappointed).

"Ready?" she asked. We nodded, "alright, well, Lee's coming. We're going in two shifts; Lee and James first, Sirius and me next."

Fair enough. Lee tripped across the corridor, beaming at us. She was holding a slip of paper in her hand that I recognized only too well.

"What did Filch get you for?" I called.

She smiled, "inappropriate displays of affection, four counts," she announced happily, then grabbed James' arm, "lets go."

It was a short walk. We even passed Binns on the way, and James and I hid under the invisibility cloak, while Lee managed to charm him enough so that he _didn't_ insist on escorting Lily and her back to bed.

After that, it was simple.

The flu network got us there in record time, and I had to blink as Lily and I glanced around at Lee's (well, our) apartment.

We'd been there before, of course, but it was different now. Something was different.

It was, of course, covered in dust, seeing as how Lee hadn't returned since term began, and I hadn't been back since she was away at the funeral, and I was working on her 'I'm sorry' present. Which, I surmised, she hadn't noticed yet.

Lee and James had already arrived and collapsed on top of each other, laughing.

Lily pursed her lips, and, to my surprise, I mirrored her.

"Now, children, we'll have none of that. Rape is _frowned_ upon, here in England." I tutted, feeling genuinely annoyed.

Lee looked up at us from under her mop of hair, smiling, "I wasn't _raping_ him!" she protested, "he was completely willing."

James laughed, and she rolled off of him, untangling her hair from where it was caught in his shirt buttons. Well, at least that explained their unorthodox position of a moment before.

"Come on, Lily," she grinned, lets get ready."

James frowned, "we're not leaving yet?"

Lily turned to him, full of disdain, "you think we'd go out in _this_?" she asked, gesturing at her and Lee's rather daggy wardrobe choices.

James looked, if anything, relieved, "of _course_ not. You're not prettied up yet. Not that," he added, seeing Lily's face, "you don't look pretty. You look gorgeous…but……"

Lily had lost patience and left, dragging Lee along behind her. I gave James a sympathetic pat on the back, and was promptly attacked by a huge white ball of fur.

"Argh!" I shouted, "Cat! No!"

Cat gave me a doggy grin and licked my face happily. He was absolutely massive.

Just a month ago, he'd still been under knee height, and now, he was almost at waist height.

"Lee, are you sure this is a dog?" I called out. I could hear her laugh from rooms away.

James was grinning, "I would have thought you'd be better with dogs, seeing as how you're, you know, a dog yourself. Just seems logical that you'd empathise."

I grinned, "shut up, Bambi." I ruffled his hair. Cat growled in jealously. He obviously felt neglected.

I looked around the apartment again. Something was definitely different. It seemed colder, or, if not colder, certainly less, well, like Lee.

I shared these feelings with James, who looked at me askance.

"I'm just not getting the same _sense_ of her that I was last time." I told him.

James sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "you'd best get that feminine side under control before the girls come out. If they get a whiff of that kind of thing, they'll start _crying_ and talking about their _feelings_" (there words are in italics because of the impressive way James' face contorted when he said them), "next thing you know, your menstrual cycles will be synchronized and you'll spend nights crying over what 'he' did."

I grinned and shoved him.

"No, I'm being honest with you, here," James protested, "really. You and Lee can even bitch about the same guy……Dumont will probably be flattered…..threesome ahoy!"

This is quite possibly the most disgusting conversation James and I ever had, seeing as how he mentioned Yves Dumont, periods, and a two man threesome in less than a minute. It only gets worse, and so, for your benefit, I will skip ahead to what must have been hours later, when Lee and Lily finally decided to emerge.

They came out, and in what _must_ have been an effort at a joke, or an indication of a shared, deeply rooted mental complex, Lily's hair was set in riotous curls, while Lee's hung in gentle waves down her back. Lily was wearing something short and green and _tight_ (not comfortable looking), while Lee was wearing something black and strappy. Both of them were walking (in a graceful way I can only bow to in awe) in shoes nearly as high as they were, and they were both wearing eyeliner and eyeshadow and whatever else girls rub onto their faces, in order to look stunning (which they of course, did)

"What the hell is that?" James spluttered, looking Lily up and down. She grinned and sketched a quick curtsy for him. I scoffed until I noticed that Lee was wearing something even shorter.

Baffled, but appreciative, James repeated his question.

"What the hell is _that_?"

Lee scoffed, mimicking me, no doubt, "English _is_ my third language, but I think I know the word for this one…..let me see….you call it….a dress?"

James spluttered again (repetition seemed to be becoming a habit) "that is no dress! That is….that is a top masquerading as a dress."

Lee laughed, "oh please. To masquerade, one must have a brain. You're giving it far too much credit."

"Yeah, James," I said, displaying my superior knowledge of women's clothing, "I mean, I've seen shorter."

Lee scoffed (this time a genuine scoff, out of genuine scorn)

James agreed, "shorter would be naked." He told me.

Lily cocked her head to one side, "well, sweetie, if you really think that that would be appropriate……."

James made a strangled noise and pushed her hands down, "not funny." He sighed, "Jesus, I just keep imagining my mother seeing me out like this, with _you_ out like this……"

Lee raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow, tossed her perfectly wavy hair and curved her perfectly glossed lips into a smile, "so, James," she asked, "does your mother spend _much_ time at muggle clubs?"

He had the good grace to look abashed, and Lee, laughing, linked arms with him. Lily put an arm around his waist and I ruffled his hair.

James looked ill, "hope I don't spilch you," he muttered.

Lee smiled, "I think we'll take that risk. Besides, no picnic basket this time, it should be easier."

James grimaced, "I don't see why Sirius can't help."

Lee arched her eyebrows, "Sirius? Who'd trust Sirius? He'd probably 'forget' to apparate our clothes."

I hadn't thought of that, but it really seemed quite a good idea.

Lily read my face and smirked, "guess that settles that," she said. Lee grinned.

James sighed, worn down, "you ready?"

I placed my hands securely on his shoulders, the girls shuffled closer.

"Remember," Lee cautioned, "I've shown you the club, and we're aiming for that alley just to the left of it, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah." James nodded, "On three. One, two……three."

And we were there, blissfully happy to find all our limbs still attached. Lily seemed a little upset, apparently on the basis that James had failed to apparate her false eyelashes, which James pointed out was infinitely preferable to failing to apparate her real ones, although Lily was still apparently distressed.

Lee solved the problem using pure logic; she suggested Lee use our newly learned disguise techniques to make her eyelashes thicker, blacker and longer.

That settled, we turned to see our chosen destination.

_En'Chanted_ was perhaps the epitome of muggle clubbing. It was a large, oddly shaped building, with music blaring that could be heard streets away, and coloured lights flashing _outside_. Several scantily clad (but admittedly glamorous) types sauntered over, bypassing a large cue, to be let in by mustachioed bouncers. There was even a red carpet.

Most memorably was the clubs name, scrawled across the building and glowing white and blue.

We stared, seemingly waiting for somebody to say _something_ to sum up the moment.

"E gads." I offered.

Lee laughed, and James grinned. Lily rolled her eyes.

"It's so….. classy." She said, almost sarcastically, which was odd, for Lily.

Grinning, Lee ruffled her hair, "it isn't _supposed_ to be classy……it is a way for me to be trashy, _mon ami_."

James snuck a hand around Lily's waist, "come on, Lily….it'll be fun."

I watched them snuggle, and realized that I was becoming increasingly aware of Lee, standing a few feet away but not having made any physical contact with me for a month.

"I miss Annika." I blurted, and Lee raised an eyebrow.

"And whose fault is it if she isn't here?" she asked, "I did say you could bring her."

I raised a finger, "but you didn't _want _me to."

She shrugged, "to be honest, I didn't care." She glanced at Lily and James and rolled her eyes, "lets go inside. You're all being tedious."

James, here, decided to take the lead. Lily moved to the back of the line, resolute and resigned, but her boyfriend wasn't taking any of that.

"Hey," he called companionably to the bouncer, "having a good night?"

The man scoffed at him, "briwliant, mate. Now, do I know yehs, or are ye just makin' conversation, 'ere?" James looked confused, and the bouncer rolled his eyes, "the line's thataway, matey."

I have never seen a man so crestfallen.

"Ah, sweetie," Lily grinned at him, "you did your best. You're just…..i don't know, lacking in a few things which are necessary in this sort of situation.

James shrugged, "yeah?"

Lee sauntered past, pouting, and the bouncer grinned.

Lily gave James a sympathetic pat on the back, "grow some breasts, James, and you might stand a chance."

Lee, meanwhile, primped and preened, flouncing around, while the bouncer peered down her cleavage. In a matter of seconds, she turned around, grinning, and beckoned us forwards. Lily smiled charmingly, and they both gave the bouncer a kiss on the cheek, each time ushering James and I forwards.

We were inside like that, wondering at the influence wielded by a pretty woman.

Inside was louder than out.

_Much_ louder.

None of that muffled 'doof doof doof', this was all and out ruckus; a crush of bodies and flashing lights that made the simplest movements confusing.

Scattered throughout the massive interior were different raised blocks, at various levels, on which several obviously _not_ professional dancers were enthusiastically writhing.

I felt reasonably disgusted, a feeling not at all alleviated by the multitudes of middle-aged women in animal print lycra.

A crime against so many things, which made me both long for the unnaturally long and shapeless school robes, and yearn to be deprived of my sight.

Of course, at closer inspection, James and I both noticed the younger population, laughing and dancing and drinking. Attractive things, too.

Lee must have noticed my approval, because she laughed at me, already swaying in time and said, "having fun, are we?"

I rolled my eyes, "go find your bouncer," I shouted over the music, "I'm getting a drink."

Lee had a stack of muggle money in her apartment, the last of her savings, and we'd carefully counted out the equivalent in gallons and sickles to pay her back. We'd have felt guilty if she hadn't pointed out (a slight killjoy) that in France, the English Pound would be of little use to her.

Now, with a couple of fivers in hand, I approached the counter, determined to order the most exotic sounding drink available.

Had I not been waylaid by a little brunette, I would have gotten there, too.

Didn't take long before I was dancing with her, but when she went to kiss me, I pulled back.

This blatant ignoring of an opportunity to score with a pretty girl worried me some, and I set out to find James.

He was standing, rather forlornly, next to the ladies toilet.

"They're in there." He grumbled loudly, happy to see me approach, "doing something to their eyes or whatever."

I leant against the wall, thumping my head deliberately against it. It made a satisfying noise.

James eyed me, "what?"

"I just left a pretty girl alone because she tried to kiss me." I admitted, feeling idiotic. Then something occurred to me and I sat bolt upright "you don't think maybe I actually, you know, _love_ Annika, do you?"

James snorted, "Annika? No. But, on the other hand……"

I wonder now if he'd been monitoring their progress, so perfect was his timing. No sooner had he given his significant glance then Lee and Lily emerged, laughing and tossing their hair.

I watched them approach, aghast at the suggestion, "uh, no, James. I don't think so."

"Bull crap," he laughed, "but hey, keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better."

Lily strode over, taking James' arm, "dance?" she asked. I could smell some kind of sweet alcohol on her breath.

She turned disconcertingly to me just then and said, "sex on the beach."

At a loss, I looked to James, "she drank a few," he told me.

Ah. A cocktail.

James was complaining. Dance? No! They'd just danced, hadn't they?

Ah, Lily pointed out, but look, isn't that Lee dancing?

This argument continued for some minutes, myself swigging from a beer I'd bought and half consumed while they debated. Eventually, Lee gestured that they should come dance, before disappearing into the crowd.

"Lee's boy is dancing!" Lily pointed out.

Lee's boy?

And there she was, with some blonde guy, laughing and kissing and being thoroughly 'Lee'.

"Well," I said, grasping for something, anything to do, "that's not fair."

Lily and James looked at me in content, drunken confusion.

I considered. Why wasn't that fair?

"I haven't gotten nearly so close to anybody yet," I pointed out. Lily looked placated, but James frowned knowingly.

"Except for that pretty girl you were telling me about." He remarked casually, smiling.

Lily seemed at a loss, and James wasn't really too on the ball either. I decided to take advantage of that.

"James," I rolled my eyes. You _must_ be drunk if you thought she was pretty.." I said disparagingly before walking off.

The music was thumping irritatingly loud in my head, and it really seemed like I was the only sober individual around, still clutching Lee's last few English notes in hand.

I'm not sure, mysterious somebody, if you've ever been to a nightclub, but I have decided, for the sake of my own peace of mind (for gods sake, you're only just fourteen!) to believe that you have never seen a nightclub, inside _or_ out.

This particular club was a mess of flashing lights (as if drunk people need to be _more_ disoriented!) and smoke, which swirled around and made things more confusing. Between the flashing, coloured lights, the smoke and the drink, you tend to see only vague outlines of people, which, if you're wondering, means that young, attractive people are thoroughly taken advantage of.

I'd had my arse pinched more times that I could count before I lost it.

"Bugger off!" I roared, spinning around.

Lee raised an eyebrow, "overreaction," she told me above the music. Then, to my surprise, she took my hand and led me out of the crush. Watching her from behind dispelled all my illusions of being taken advantage of.

Lee was pinched so many times that her bottom was never even fully in sight, hidden behind a blur of hands.

I wondered absently, cringing in sympathy for Lee, where we were going.

"Are we leaving?" I asked, and she shook her head, smiling.

Just then, as she looked up at me from under her lashes, I figured it out; we were going for one last make out session. She was leaving tomorrow, and that would be that, so she was trying to end our ridiculously confused relationship on if not good, certainly climatic terms.

I wasn't angry. I knew I was supposed to be, but instead, I found myself trying to walk faster, holding her hand tighter.

When we were off of the floor, the music was less thumping, and it was almost nice; that vague beat in the background while we stood under hideous fluorescent lights, smiling at each other.

"Lee," I murmured, and she turned around, her makeup all smudged, but looking amazing. I kept hold of her hand and took a step closer, making to cup my other hand around her neck, but then……

"Lee!"

She turned, grinning, "hey," she dropped my hand casually, "this is the one I was telling you about."

"You didn't tell me anything." I said, confused, "James mentioned….."

The guy standing opposite Lee was too good looking, I decided. He was handsome enough, that was nothing major, but his nose. God, his nose. It was crooked, just a little, and it gave his face _character _.

Lee smiled at him, "Mark, Sirius. Sirius, Mark."

Mark nodded at me and reached into his pocket, "yeah, nice. Uh, here." He held out a little slip of paper and I looked to Lee, confused.

She rolled her eyes, "you take it in your hand, and you put it safely in your pocket," she enunciated slowly. Mark grinned. Glowering, I took the paper.

"What is it?" I asked, suspicious.

Lee shrugged, "something you want," she said blandly, at the same time as Mark shrugged and said, "my number."

I jolted, and made to give the paper back, but Lee closed my fist around it.

"Bad Sirius!" she said sternly, "say thankyou!"

"Who to?" I drawled, confused.

Lee shook her head and laughed, "see you at three," she said, wiggling her fingers in farewell, and then she was gone, dragged back onto the dance floor by Mark.

I felt oddly cheated.

"Annika," I reminded myself, "Annika."

Out of that room, everything was just as chaotic as it had been before. There was no sign of Lee or Mark, and Lily and James were over in the corner, exploring each other's mouths with their tongues. I decided not to say hello.

"Hey," someone called. I turned around. It was brunette girl.

"I have a girlfriend," I told her, shrugging sadly, and she grinned.

"I have a fiancée," she winked, then looked around, "is she here?"

I smiled, "no."

Brunette grinned at me, "well then."

We started to dance.

Some people say that 12o'clock is the witching hour. They're very wrong, for your information, mysterious somebody. No, twelve is morning. The witching hour…..that's three o'clock.

Just when we were supposed to go home.

I'd placed an alarum spell on my shoelace, so when it started to vibrate, I knew that it was time to meet up with the others. Brunette girl frowned when I stopped kissing her, "what?"

"I have to go." I said regretfully, disentangling myself.

She opened her mouth to say more, but I was gone. In more ways than one, actually. Just like at Mitch's party, I wasn't entirely awake. Luckily, I'd had the choice between drinking or kissing, and I'd gone mostly with kissing, so I was still alright to walk and function like a normal person.

That was good, because the club seemed even more crowded now. People were moving tightly against one another, which made it damn impossible to go against the crowd. I was wedged between a fat man with wandering hands and a kissing couple when the screaming started.

I'm not sure if you've ever heard of that night. Surely you must have, and yet, perhaps not. After all, it was not quite the first massacre, and hardly the largest. There was really very little provocation for it, in fact, and they still don't know _why_ that particular venue was chosen, though there have been theories; excess of young people; foolish 'muggle' behaviour, the ridiculous name which linked back to magic…..

Perhaps I won't tell you quite yet. You, like I, will not know what is happening.

The screaming was, not like I'd thought, drunken hysteria. It was real, blood curdling screaming. There was a moment of confusion, and the lights went blank. The screaming turned into hysteric murmuring as we all waited, confused. Some people started shouting angrily at the ceiling and the DJ, as though that would help get the electricity working again. At a loss, I stood still, other than to hit the fat man's wandering hand away from my groin.

And then, the lights were back on again, flashing red, green, blue and white. For a second, I was relieved. But the screaming began again, and I saw the figures standing on each of those dancing tables, wands held high, robes billowing out behind them as they threw curses around the room.

It was the masks that snapped me out of it.

"Shit!" I hissed, and tried to move, but the crowd had condensed in its panic, and was swelling as one to the exit, while the death eaters laughed and aimed curses at random into the pack.

People were collapsing left right and centre, and the confusion turned into pandemonium. I watched as a man's arm was snapped at the bone when somebody treaded on it. As I neared the door, carried by the crowd, a man in front of me was flung through the air by a bolt of green light, hitting the far wall and falling limply to the ground.

That was the first time I saw a killing curse. Ever.

It was also the second I saw a blonde woman being levitated above the crowd while she screamed, and the hissing in my ears turned into a high pitched whine when I remembered that Lee and James and Lily were still inside.

That was it.

I fought my way back through the crowd, not caring how conspicuous it made me. The numerous people levitating and those who'd gotten out made it easier to move; I was merely dodging hysteric drunks running in the opposite direction to me. Someone whacked me in the face, knocking a tooth loose, and there was blood on my arm, whether it was mine of somebody else's, I didn't know.

I kept running, and I saw that the doors had been closed and everybody was stuck inside who'd yet to get out. My heartbeat was drumming in my chest and my vision was so blurry I wasn't even sure if I would be able to _see_ Lee.

But then, she was of course not hiding. I saw her in the middle of the crush of people, and she had drawn her wand.

"No!" I shouted, tackling her and wresting her wand away, "no, Lee! You'll draw attention to yourself."

"Mon dieu!" she screamed, "give it back, we need to help!"

"We _need_ to get out of here!" I growled, pinning her arms to her sides as she struggled.

Infront of us, a light flashed suddenly, greener than grass, and then something fell heavily to the floor. Lee screamed. It was the corpse of a woman, her eyes open and staring, her lipstick smudged across her mouth.

"Jesus." I cursed, "Lee! Stop struggling."

The screaming made it difficult to hear her protests, as did her sudden, but not wholly unexpected, transition to French.

"We're the only ones who can save them! We can help them!" she cried, but I ignored her. I wrapped my arms around hers, praying that she would eventually _stop _kicking me, and that we wouldn't be seen, although I knew that the chances were slim.

I didn't even feel as though it were me acting; me grabbing Lee, me concentrating, me ducking behind the body of that woman, me holding on tight and thinking of anywhere but there.

And yet, suddenly, it was quiet, but for Lee's sobs.

It was dark, too.

"Lee?" I asked hoarsely, "are you alright?"

Something licked my face, but I was reasonably sure it wasn't her.

"Cat," I murmured, feeling my gum throbbing where my tooth was loose.

Lee was curled up in a tiny ball in my arms.

We'd managed to apparate back to her house.

"Take me back," she whispered.

I frowned, "are you joking?"

"Take me back! I want to go back! Sirius, now! I need to- I need to go back!" she was sobbing and pummeling my chest with her fists. I winced, and held her tighter in the hopes that it would incapacitate her.

"They'd kill you. You couldn't do anything." I murmured, rocking her back and forth.

"I could _help_," she snarled, "I could save somebody. Anybody. Take me _back_!"

"Lee? I think she's there- Lee, is that you?" the voice came from my pocket, and I scrambled to keep a hold of Lee whilst pulling out my mirror, "Lee, is Sirius there with you, are you ok?"

I held the mirror up, "James?"

"Oh! Thank god." His voice sounded shaky and I could hear Lily sobbing in the background, "where are you, man? Are you safe?"

I sighed, "yes. We're fine. I think. You?"

Lily sobbed louder in the background, and I heard James' sigh, "a few cuts and scratches. We'll be alright- Sirius, what the hell!?"

Lee was still sobbing and I stroked her hair, "I don't know." I shivered, "they looked like those death eaters."

"OK," James said slowly, "ok. Where are you? Are you away from there?"

I looked around. I hadn't really had any aim when I'd apparated, but this was the right place to be, I realized with a shaky grin, "at Lee's. Safe."

"Hogsmeade," James breathed, "we're in Hogsmeade. I'm gonna get us into the school through one of the passages."

I nodded. James had his wand out now, and through his lumos spell I could see the side of his face; his eyes were wide and his glasses were cracked.

Mirroring his move, I pulled my own wand out, muttering the spell, so he could see me.

He grinned, tiredly, and motioned his wand to the side of his face, "you got a little something on your face……don't be embarrassed, you can hardly notice it."

Gingerly, I touched my fingers to the spot; they came away sticky with blood.

"Ah." I said.

"Give me that," Lee snapped angrily, snatching the mirror off of me.

"Careful!" I called, worried she'd break it, but instead, she held it up, taking my wand off me and holding it to her face.

There was a long trickle of blood running down from a cut on her head, and her mascara seemed to have migrated largely to her cheeks and under her eyes, but she seemed fine.

"James? Is Lily alright?" she demanded.

James' voice sounded, "yeah, Lee. She's fine. What about you, you're bleeding a little."

Lee brushed this comment aside, "when did you leave?" she snapped, "when? How soon after they arrived?"

"Uh," James seemed to be at a loss, "pretty much straight after, actually. When we saw the curses, I reckon I knew who they were……I wanted to get Lily out."

I shuddered, imagining if they'd realized Lily was muggle born.

Lee seemed a little placated, "alright," she said quietly, "give her a hug from me."

James gave a short, almost hysterical laugh, "do I get a hug?"

Lee's smile was sharp and angry, but not at James. She handed the mirror back to me and stood up.

"Lee?" I asked, suspicious, "what are you doing?"

She ignored me, lifting her dress to show the top of her stockings. You know, the ones that don't cover a girl's whole leg, but, for no discernable purpose, end somewhere near the upper thigh and have straps connecting them to, I don't know, somewhere above that. Those. While I watched, she tucked her wand into the top of them and lowered her dress again.

"Lee," I frowned, but she was rushing around the place, doing god knows what.

Then it clicked, and I cursed, launching myself at her.

"No!" I said sternly, like you would to a dog, "no, Lee!"

She thrashed in my arms, "somebody has to do something!" she cursed, in French.

"Lee, they are!" I insisted, remembering vaguely that she insisted on having a television in her, sorry, our, apartment, which I'd learned how to use last time I'd visited. I reached around, groping for the remote.

Finding it, I pointed it at the black box and pressed down.

It flickered into life.

"….authorities say that this regrettable accident, the result of a deadly gas leak, set off by an electrical malfunction, was a one-time incident, and will not happen again" a woman pronounced seriously, standing in front of the night club, while men in uniforms and ambulances and police cares surrounded it. In the corner, a clump of scantily clad people shivered and cried, clutching thick blankets to themselves.

Lee let out a sob, but it seemed more angry than sad.

"I am here with witness Stephanie Kirk, who was inside _En'Chanted_ when these events took place. Tell us what you saw, Stephanie."

The woman proffered the microphone to a young, trembling blonde girl.

"Yeah, so it was great, everything was normal, until the lights started flickering- and then they went out…" her voice broke, "people started running for the doors, heaps of people got trampled… some just didn't get out…….."

I was impressed, despite the realization that I was probably going into shock. The Ministry sure worked fast. Not half an hour had gone by since the attack began, and already a story had been devised and spread, and everybody had had their memories wiped.

"Thankyou, Stephanie," the news reader smiled calmly, face very solemn again, "although authorities are still removing bodies, this disaster seems to have claimed over thirty lives, with many more injured. The estimation lies at thirty-seve…"

I switched it off.

"See," I whispered into Lee's shaking head, "its finished. They're gone."

She was saying something, something in French, and I couldn't quite make it out. I leaned closer, trying to hear.

"I should've helped. I should've helped. I should've helped. I should've helped." She whispered over and over again, "I should've helped. I should've helped."

"Sssshh," I said, stroking her hair, "there was nothing you could do.

She ignored me, continuing with her mantra, "I should've helped, I should've helped, I should've helped"

"You couldn't," I whispered, "there was nothing you could have done, Lee. Nothing at all. It's over now."

We spent the entire night like that. I had decided by then, as I saw the faces of all those people flashing in front of me, screaming and crying, with tear tracks glinting in the light of those spells…..that I would never be able to sleep so well again.

Lee cried for hours, just quietly, rocking back and forth and every now and then whispering again, "I should've helped, I should've helped" but, after a while her sobs stopped, and though I could still feel tears falling on my hands, I knew she had fallen asleep.

After I while, so did I. I stared at the television for a long time, with the volume down low, watching different pretty news ladies talk about the tragedy, and occasionally interview somebody who was there, some traumatized, tear streaked kid with messed up hair and wild eyes, and while I watched, I kept looking, hoping to recognize that brunette girl, or Mark, or anyone who'd been there, but I couldn't.

After a while, I picked Lee up and moved her to her room, but as I went to leave and go sleep in my own, I realized that I really didn't want to be alone. With the face of that dead woman still floating behind my eyelids, I wanted to be close to something warm and full of life. So, I lay Lee down, and then laid down beside her, scooping my arm underneath her and resting the other one on hr stomach so that I could feel her breathe.

I don't know how long it took me to fall asleep, but I do remember that the sky was just lightening up a little, which made me feel like everything bad would go away (like a child who'd had a nightmare) and I remember as well the last thing I said before my eyes finally shut. The last thought that crossed my mind.

"I should've helped."


	23. Chapter 23

I feel obliged to relate to you a wonderful dream which I was lucky enough to have last night.

This isn't like that other dream, that memory dream I told you about, although I suppose there are similarities.

The difference being, I think, that this never happened.

I was lying on a bed, my old bed from that apartment, a little queen sized one which never seemed quite big enough or small enough, probably because both your mother and I could never be fully satisfied with our lot, therefore rendering something which seemed at first ridiculously large (due to lack of funds, we originally had to share a single bed) to something ridiculously cramped, resulting in my banishment from the bed and a week spent on the couch (perhaps had I not insinuated that _she_ took up the majority of the room, I may have been allowed to stay).

Anyway, I was lying on this bed, and she was lying next to me. It was quite warm, and so we were dressed in very summery clothes. Or at least, she was. I was wearing my suit pants, shoes and a striped shirt, with my tie hanging loosely, my top few buttons undone and my sleeves rolled up to my elbows. I was probably just back from work. She was wearing a summer dress, with a pattern of little flowers, and her hair was hanging loosely around her shoulders. She was leaning against a veritable stack of pillows, with her feet placed firmly on the bed, so her knees were in the air and her dress, which was cinched at the waist and flowy everywhere else, fell back onto her stomach, so her long legs were pretty visible.

She was reading a magazine that was balancing on her stomach, which was relatively huge, containing a certain _you_, and she had the tip of a pen in her mouth as she puzzled out the crossword.

I said something indistinct to her, and she gasped, rolling up her magazine and trying to swat me with it. I dodged out of the way, moving to the front of her, and she couldn't reach me over her stomach. She made to kick out at me, but I grabbed her feet and pushed them down, poking my tongue out at her. she fell back onto the bed, exhausted, murmuring something.

I moved around to her side, and, though she'd been lying perfectly still, she whacked me firmly on the nose with her magazine, and I too collapsed beside her, reprimanding her, but smiling.

We lay there, just staring at each other for a while, and then, I put my hand on her stomach, and we smiled even more, like crazy people, we were.

Anyway, the point is that I have no idea what was said, not once, in that dream. Everything was either murmured, or shouted but still unclear……it was a mystery.

But it was still far and away the best dream I've ever had, even if it made me long for all those moments, like that, which I missed because of a ridiculous mistake

Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.

Urgh. It doesn't really matter, mysterious somebody. I'm sure I'll get over it.

Hopefully, I'll even tell you what it was, one day. But not today, I think, because I only have so much room for anger, frustration and regret within me, and this entry may fill those bits of me. So be patient. Wait a while longer.

I'd like it if you cared about me a little before you hated me forever.

…………….

I woke up with sun in my eyes, and the echoes of a woman's scream from the night before piercing my ears.

I sat up.

In the cradle of my arms, Lee, still fully clothed, down to her shoes, slept in a curled up ball, hands clasping my shirt. My hand was unfortunately tangled in my hair, but I didn't mind. It gave me the opportunity to stay right where I was for a moment longer.

Her makeup was smudged all under her eyes, so when they opened, aside from looking incredibly zombie-like, they seemed a hundred times bluer.

She took in our position relatively quickly. Lying on the bed, wrapped in each other's arms, my leg around hers.

"Holy shit," I muttered, still looking at her.

Lee's eyes widened, and then returned to normal, "don't worry." She said calmly, "Annika wasn't here, and nobody else saw….._this…._ so James and Lily will just think you slept in your room."

Neither of us had moved.

She sighed, stretching out a little, then wriggled free.

Following her lead, I sat up, feeling my hair and smiling wryly at the way it was standing up, more like a dragon's nest than a bird's nest.

Lee smiled too, until she caught sight of something. She was looking at my mouth, and she'd paled noticeably.

"What?" I asked, and then remembered the foot colliding with my mouth. My tooth was still loose, but my lip was also spilt. I felt it gingerly.

"Ow." I offered, and Lee looked impatient.

"I'll find you something to clean yourself up with," she offered, standing up gracefully, then looking down and realised that she was still wearing heels. She sighed, then shuddered, "maybe a shower?" she offered quietly.

I nodded, "you first, or me first?" I asked.

Lee considered, then pointed to me. I grinned and skipped off of the bed, "a shower." I said, trying to look as happy as I could.

Lee smiled encouragingly and, judging from her facial expression, I hadn't been too convincing with my 'good mood'.

She rolled her eyes, "I will find you something to wear." She told me, taking her shoes off and throwing them into a corner. She stalked out like a cat.

I went to the shower.

The water was good and came out in strong jets, which were loud and steamy. I don't mind admitting to you that I cried a little under that shower head, where nobody could hear me or even see my tears. I cried a little, and then I laughed a little because Lee had frangipani and orchid shampoo, rose scented facial scrub and coconut body wash, and I was worried people would think I was a poofter, seeing as how I'd arrive at school smelling like a flower arrangement. And then I cried again, because the brunette from the night before had smelt like lavender, and then I laughed again because Lily smelt like orange blossom, or so James told me, too, and it seemed like girls all wanted to smell like a fruit salad or a garden.

In my defence, I think I was in a state of shock.

I came out of the shower, looking down at my blood and sweat streaked clothes, and decided that it made more sense to wrap my towel around my waist and find Lee.

She was in the room, putting something on the bed. She turned around when I came in, "good. You're clean." She said calmly, "I left some clothes for you in your room."

I had forgotten that I had a room. Obediently, I padded out, leaving wet footprints behind me, and with Cat following me like a bloody shadow. My room consisted of a bed and nothing else. It was nice enough, though, and the walls weren't pink or anything ridiculous.

It seemed almost masculine, in fact. I made a mental note to thank Lee for furnishing it for me.

On the bed were a pair of dark jeans, pretty worn looking, and a dark blue sweater. I tried them on; they fit.

I could hear the shower running already, so I went up to the door and knocked.

"Yes?" Lee's voice was muffled by the water, and I was amused that she didn't say 'What, Sirius?' but rather acted like one would when somebody knocked on their door.

"Thanks, Lee," I called.

"For what?" came the voice after a discreet pause, "they're just some things that Yves kept around here. You can have them."

That lessened the niceness a little, as I realised whose room it had been, and why it was so masculine.

"Were you sleeping with him?" I called, thinking myself an utter prat.

"Sorry, what?"

"Were you sleeping with him?" I repeated, smacking myself for not saying 'nothing'.

"What? Sirius, if I were sleeping with him, why would he have had another room to stay over in?"

"Were you?"

"yes."

I did an angry little dance outside the door, consisting of me shouting silently and whacking my head against a wall in frustration.

"Lee, I'll make breakfast." I said, as sweetly as I could.

"Just go away! I want to shower now!" Lee called back. I noticed that her voice sounded a little thick, and wondered if she too was going to cry.

I didn't even consider comforting her; she hated being seen as emotional, and she hated talking about her feelings (unless they would be insulting or offensive to somebody else). So, the only response I made was.

"Fine then, make your own pancakes."

Lee, in very pretty French, informed me that my mother had had unlikely relations with a troll nine months before my birth, and suggested I take a pleasant stroll off of the nearest bridge.

I walked away whistling.

When I checked the clock, I was dismayed to see that the time was already past midday, but consoled myself with the fact that Lee often wagged school for a day, and I myself had not been seen at a single one of my divination lessons; my teacher, being a couple of screws loose anyway, seemed to be under the impression that I was a ghost who occasionally visited.

This was probably due to my class' adamant denials that there was anybody sitting in my seat whenever I _did_ turn up for class, and a nifty use of apparation which, when perfectly timed, made it seem like James walked _through_ me.

The poor guy was far too embarrassed to ask the teachers, considering that when we saw him in the great hall, nobody would talk to me at all, and I would stare spookily at him.

Point being, he would be relieved if I didn't show up.

I made breakfast (pancakes) and shouted up to Lee to see if she wanted them upstairs or not.

She suggested, again in French, that I store them in my nether regions. Obviously, she wasn't finished with her alone time just yet.

Still in a reasonably mood, I carried them upstairs.

I noticed, with a shock, that the TV was on, though the lights in the room were out, and the news was showing shots of the club from last night, which had had several holes blasted in it.

I shuddered, hearing the screams again, and turned it off.

"I was watching that." Came a voice from the corner.

I groaned. Lee was sitting in the corner, holding her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them. She was wearing dark tights with a little denim skirt on top, and an oversized stripy jumper. Her hair was wet and dripping down her back.

"Lee," I sighed, "why? It doesn't help…..it doesn't make anybody feel better…."

"who says I want to feel better?" Lee asked petulantly.

I hissed at her and went to my room.

There were voices coming from the pocket of yesterday's pants, which disturbed me until I remembered the mirrors.

"James?" I asked.

"hey," James smiled. There were bags under his eyes and he looked exhausted, "you're not at school. But at least you don't look all gory now."

I shrugged, "well, I showered."

"Where's Lee?" James asked.

"Watching the news in the next room," I admitted, and James frowned, "yeah, I know," I sighed.

"Remus wants to have a word,"

I frowned, "well, have you told him what- oh. Remus."

He didn't look happy, "what are you, stupid?"

"Hello to you as well," I grimaced.

"She could have _died_!" He shouted, "the hell didn't you leave when the death eaters turned up!?"

"Now, hang on," I snapped, "they didn't exactly arrive in fricking pairs, dance for a while then attack us. It was pretty sudden, Moony."

"Why weren't you with her?" he snapped.

I was utterly at a loss, "she was with another guy……."

"Oh yeah? And how was _he_ supposed to look after her?"

"How is _anybody_ supposed to look after her!? She looks after herself," I countered, "listen, Remus, she is fine. Shaken, but fine. I'm sorry if I offended you by not surgically attaching myself to her when we entered the club, but frankly, I didn't really expect an attack. I mean, who would expect death eaters to show up at a night club, really!"

There was a long silence, and then Remus sighed, "don't do it again."

As he passed over the mirror, I heard James' tired sigh, "when would he have the chance? She''ll be in a bloody villa this time tomorrow."

We said our goodbyes and I thought about that last statement…..a villa…tomorrow.

And then, right then, I realised what was missing from the apartment, what it was that made it not feel like Lee.

The photos.

All of them were gone. Poof. Disappeared.

Packed, I suppose.

I felt a plummeting feeling in my stomach, but, to counteract it, took a bite of a pancake. Problem solved, I went back into Lee's room again.

She was there, but no longer in the corner. Instead, she stood facing the far wall, mouth slightly open, hand raised as though she were touching something.

"Lee, I reckon that…" I stopped, "oh," I said calmly, "you found it, then."

Lee burst into tears.

She was looking at my present, something which took not a little bit of effort to make for her, but which was worth it.

Lee had complained, you see, that her room was boring. She had grand plans for a 'feature wall' to make it better and more chic. Girls, right? I mean, a room is for sleeping in, all you need is a pillow.

Anyway, when she left for the funeral, and I went around to move some of my stuff from the Potter's to hers (something which didn't ever end up happening) I had an idea.

Three weeks of hard research and extremely tortured learning of spells, and Lee's feature wall was a huge, perfect version of Vincent Van Gogh's 'Starry Night', the painting she'd said was her brother's soul.

Lee's tears were done pretty much as soon as they'd begun. She wiped the heel of her hand across her face, smearing her eyeliner and looked at me seriously.

"You……?" she said simply, "you…..did this?"

I opened my mouth, "well, it's just that after every……."

But she had her arms wrapped around my waist and her head on my chest before I could finish, hugging me very tightly, gripping the fabric of my sweater in her hands.

I made to speak, only I realised then that Lee had never hugged me before.

Sure, an arm around the shoulders. And we'd certainly kissed a lot. But a simple, loving, passionate hug? Never. Too open, not easily passed off as a spur of the moment gesture, like a kiss on the cheek. To hug a person like Lee was hugging me was commitment. You can't say, oh, I just felt like it, or, oh, it meant nothing. Because the emotion is plain to see.

So, instead of putting my foot in it, I stroked Lee's hair, very gently. I feel as though I should clarify here, because I know that she would be _furious_ at the idea that anybody imagined her to be sobbing; she wasn't sobbing. Her eyes were wet, but in reality, there were very few tears.

We didn't say anything at all, either. I merely stood there, and she stood with me, but in a way we communicated more than we ever had before. I quite like the idea of that; truly, I didn't really know what I was writing, but it does make sense. In any case, we stayed like that for quite some time, and when I finally realised that the toast I'd put on downstairs was burning, our heartbeats were even synchronised, thumping at the exact same time.

"I think I might go and……." I didn't bother finishing. Lee ducked out of my arms and smiled at me, a brilliant smile, full of love, and then she kissed me on the cheek.

"_Merci_" she whispered.

I grinned at her and went down the stairs. It was extremely odd and embarrassing, I will tell you know, how elated I felt that she'd liked her present so much. It was down right unsettling, how she seemed so affected by it, and how that affected me. I was trying very hard not to skip down the corridor, and I literally was as excited as a child.

The smell of smoke was more pronounced, now, but I couldn't actually smell anything burning.

"Hmnn…." I said thoughtfully, still grinning like an idiot, "hey, Lee, is there anything flammable………."

I broke off abruptly. Somebody was standing in the living room, back facing me, straight as if a poker had been rammed up his arse.

Now, most muggles in my situation would have screamed and ran by then, or, if like me they had short tempers, attempted to beat the intruder up with a vase, or a stool, or whatever was closest.

Being a wizard, I reacted differently. My wand was in my hand in a second

I mustered up as much machismo as I could, and cleared my throat.

The man did not turn straight away, which seemed off to me. There was a long pause, and then a very slight alteration in his posture, almost like an exasperated sigh. Like he was humouring me.

Still, he didn't turn.

I frowned, "making yourself comfortable, are we? Don't answer, I don't care. Get out of my place before I……." what threat to use? I had nothing, "before I think of something creatively painful and extremely original to do to you."

Slowly, dangerously, the man turned.

He was tall, I should have mentioned, and dressed all in black, with thick black hair combed back off of his face, almost the way I would imagine Dracula to wear his hair.

When he turned, I noticed a few more resemblances. He was good looking, and I, as a good looking person who _hated_ competition, would even admit that, with a strong jaw and pale skin. He had thick eyebrows, which mad him look a little angry, but he was quite young, really.

One of those eyebrows was raised as he looked at me.

"And you are……?" he said coldly, in crisp formal English. Then he paused, and the corner of his mouth pulled up, "your parents?"

That may seem like an odd question, but in the environment I was raised in as a child, my answer was reasonably instinctive.

" Orion and Walburga Black." I pretty much word vomited out, before feeling reasonably stupid.

The man looked at me for a second, eyes evaluating, then gave a curt little nod.

When he did that, I had to literally quash a thrill of fear that started in my stomach; his coldness reminded me of the death eaters. This was how I imagined they'd look at a person.

"You speak French." He stated in French.

I scoffed, "you speak English," I stated in English.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, "English," he stated (in French), "is an abomination. You savages took the best of our language, and mangled it with German and the like. Harsh tongues. French, is smooth."

"French makes phlegm," I countered (in English), "besides, French is just a guttural version of Italian. That's where your language comes from."

We glared at each other and I realised that I _hated_ this man, for no discernable reason.

"What are you doing in my home?" I demanded, "I don't remember inviting you."

"If you invited me, I would not have come." The man said coldly. I wanted to whack his head into the wall, "in any case," he continued, "this is not your house."

I raised an eyebrow, at a loss, "excuse me?"

The man strode over to the mantelpiece, picking up a small scrap of paper which still sat there. He looked at it for a second, frowned sharply, and put it into his pocket.

"Where is she?" he asked finally, and I remember feeling surprised that a burglar would know about Lee. Then surprise at myself for having thought such a well dressed and dignified man was a burglar.

Still, what else could he be?

"This is my house," I snapped, "you answer my question, first."

"Or?"

I pulled out my wand, whipping it out of my back pocket, but I wasn't fast enough. The man, without even looking, disarmed me.

"What the hell do you want?'" I hissed, silently summoning my wand back to me. The man allowed it, looking bored.

"Aureilee." He said with a clipped sigh, "did not arrive at school. Please tell her that she had inconvenienced me with her pathetic little assignations."

Pathetic little assignations…..? Oh. Me.

"Any particular name I should give her?" I asked petulantly.

The man ignored me, turning away again, standing as still as he had been before.

It occurred to me, mysterious somebody, that the situation was spiralling far out of my control. There was a stranger in my house who not only refused to leave, but was waiting for Lee, though he neglected to give his name.

Was it possible that she was in debt? She had, after all, been quite short on money……..

Still feeling that little happy burst of satisfaction at having gifted her with so amazing a present, I decided that debt was nothing. We'd work it out. Or I'd work it out for her….

She'd pretend to be furious, but that would all be an act; she'd give me another one of those grateful hugs, and….

"How much?" I asked, reaching into my jeans pocket for my wallet.

The man gave a tortured sigh, "_pardon_?" he drawled in French.

"How much does she owe? I can pay."

"Is your name Aureilee Dahlquist?" the man snapped coldly. I didn't answer, "well then, insolent child, why are you still here?"

I was astounded, "how dare you," I hissed, "I would force you out of here, only I'm not sure if Lee actually _values_ your company, and I wouldn't want to get her in a shit. But you do _anything_ that means she wouldn't care if you went, and you'll go, I swear to you."

Still facing away from me, my new friend said nothing.

Cautiously, I turned and walked up the stairs.

"Lee?" I called softly.

"In here." Came the answer. Her room. She still hadn't moved.

The enchantments of concealment I'd placed around the wall had been completely removed now, so '_Starry Night_' was fully visible in all its glory, but Lee wasn't looking at it. She was standing near her bed, the bed I'd woken up in, but it had been hastily straightened out by then.

There was something else about the room, too. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on……

"Sirius? Oi, Padfoot?"

I whipped my mirror out of my pocket with an apologetic look in Lee's direction. She gestured her acquiescence and sat herself on the edge of the bed, ankles crossed.

"James? What?"

James looked frantic, even as he grinned at me, "Sirius, mate," he panted. And then I recognised that grin.

"Oh no," I said, "seriously!? How?"

that grin was James' own special defeat warning. It was useful, most notably for being a charming way to share his acceptance; we tried, we failed, next time, we'll get them.

He grinned it again and I groaned, "Lee's absence was noted at school, and _somebody_ noted your absence and felt obliged to point it out."

Oh shit. Annika.

"When they kill me," I said solemnly, "punish her for me."

James grinned again (I wished he would stop it!), "anyway, it was investigated, which meant that they checked up on you in divination, which means….."

Oh shit. The professor. I hope he wasn't too shocked to find out I was real.

James' grin was bigger than ever, "he looked _really_ confused."

Damn it! I'd been hoping to keep it up until graduation, when I'd walk up to him, all scary looking, reaching for his 'neck' to watch him run away screaming.

I'd been planning something elaborate, see, where I'd spend a month with my hand on somebody's shoulder, and after that month, they'd 'disappear' too. Nobody would see them, the professor would be forced to put up with two ghosts. And more, as we kept that chain going. See now, when I went to put my hand on his shoulder at graduation, he'd think he was dying.

Alas, t'would never happen now.

"Have you been pinned?" I asked, concerned for him.

James shrugged, "well, you were missing, so they know that I was. But they have no proof. Same with Lily. We were in out beds this morning." He paused, "I think they're mostly concerned because of, well….. you know."

Last night. Yes, the Prophets would have arrived by now, scrawled over with news of another attack, one which left far too many dead, still more evidence of the Ministry's inability to handle this cult.

I nodded, "well, I reckon we've been caught out. Lee's got somebody here after her." I met her eyes as I said it, but she seemed unsurprised. Resigned, even.

"I'll say," James said, shuddering, "not a particularly friendly bloke, is he?"

"No," I agreed, "a bit of a tool, really.

James grinned now, "can you _believe _that he didn't even have her address!? I mean, alright, you don't get along, but to not have her _address_…. I had to give it to him."

I frowned, "you gave it to him?"

"Uh huh, you look pissed. Why?"

"Well, James, I-" and then Lee had taken the mirror out of my hands.

"James," she said softly, "I think maybe I will have to explain to Sirius. He's apparently a little…….obtuse this morning."

"Lee." James' voice sounded a little unhappy, "so, you're going from there?"

"Mnnhh," was Lee's answer, "so, I will say goodbye now?"

"Oh! You planned this!"

Lee didn't deny it, "I do not like goodbyes. They seem silly. Je' taime, James."

She passed the mirror back to me and went over to the bed.

"What the hell?" I asked, putting it back in my pocket, "is going on?"

"You know the answer to that," Lee said coldly, "truth be told, you're being a little immature, aren't you?"

This seemed an unfair accusation, "well, I'm not the one with some loan shark downstairs."

Lee let out a bark of laughter, "loan shark? An amusing fantasy."

"You think I fantasise about you being in debt with snobby frogs?" I asked, confused.

She didn't look so amused any more. In fact, she looked downright pissed off.

"He isn't a loan shark."

"How do you know? You haven't seen him." I pointed out.

"His name is Etienne."

"Look- I don't really care what his name is…….."

"Etienne Dahlquist." Lee said and the words fell back down my throat, "my father. He's here to take me home."

"Home?" I asked, and the plummeting feeling from before was back, "but, he isn't- I mean, he's not your……" and then I remembered those eyes. Cold and hard, but as blue as Lee's own. I struggled to think of something else to say, "home is here."

"Home is in France." Lee said stiffly. "I never said that it wasn't. I love my country."

I was sure that Lee had disowned France at least once in favour of England, but I let it go, "what did James mean that you planned this?"

Lee ran a hand through her hair, apparently irritated, "you were supposed to go back via the flu network with the others, but I would forget something, and promise to come along after. Which I wouldn't do. Last night……last night ruined that."

I felt my face screw up; a sure sign I was about to say something stupid, get angry about a completely unrelated topic in order to avoid the truth.

"Oh," I heard myself say quietly, "so last night was inconvenient, hmmnn? What a _shame_ that your plans were, what was it? Oh yes, _Ruined_ by the deaths of countless innocents."

Lee's eyes flashed angrily, "oh, Sirius," she smiled, "I know what you're doing, and I am not in the mood to tolerate it." she paused, "my home is in France."

"Your home," I told her, "is where your friends are. Where people who _care_ about you are."

"And?"

"And nobody in France cares about you." I snapped at her, "all you have there is a cemetery full of family graves, a villa full of bad memories and a, a…." I gestured wildly in the direction of the sitting room, "a….a loan shark for a father!"

Lee laughed harshly, "and here? Here I have, what, one friend who likes me because I am everything she _wishes_ she had the courage to be, one friend who is friends with me mostly to get in with the first friend, one friend who doesn't talk, an ex-boyfriend who has started using what I suppose count as threats to try and get me back….." Yves? Interesting. I wonder what he was saying, "well, more than one ex boyfriend, but very few who are on talking terms with me, one friend whose relationship with me fluctuates from pretending we don't know one another to mad, angry sex against a wall. Who else? A cousin who refuses to talk to me………."

"Hey," I snapped, "we have _never_ had sex."

I wasn't pleased with the way that line was delivered. I sounded almost petulant.

Lee met my gaze evenly, "I wasn't actually talking about you, Black."

"There's somebody _else_ you have that relationship with?" I asked, flabbergasted and a little offended.

Lee sniffed. Then turned. Then ran a hand through her hair.

Finally, she sighed, and with her back to me pronounced, "I don't think there is much point in us talking about this."

That made me really angry.

There were things here that weren't being said, big things. Things that should be aired out. Things that _needed_ to be said

"And that, that right there, is your biggest problem," I said, trying to keep my voice even, "as soon as things get just a little bit tough, you up and run. You _give up_."

I thought she was going to shout at me then. Certainly her eyes flashed pretty dramatically, and her fists clenched, but she breathed out and turned away, "think what you like," she said calmly.

I smiled, "see, there you're doing it again. You're _always_ doing it. So you're having a hard time, and you decide to quite school? My God, Lee. With all your talent, you should be _begging_ to stay here."

Lee laughed, "having a hard time? Half of the school thinks that I _fucked_ my own brother, thanks to you! Do you have any idea of how much I was ridiculed, how many times idiot boys tried to corner me! 'What, we're not good enough because we're not related?' That's what they would say, but I fought them off. Believe me, I would stay if I thought it was worth it, but I don't have the choice here."

I scoffed, "whatever."

"What gives you the right to say that?" she snapped, "what makes this your business? You aren't a part of my life! You don't know me!"

"Like hell I don't!" I shouted, "I know you better than anyone. And I know, that right now, you're scared. That's why you're leaving. Because you are bloody petrified! You've done it before, after all. You did it with Remus."

"What are you talking about," she snapped.

"You know! Like you don't know. You're the best of friends, close as anyone, but as soon as you see that he doesn't want to be 'just friends', you chicken out! You don't talk to him, or try to fix it, you just run away and leave it broken on the floor."

"Remus and I are still friends," she shouted, and I laughed.

"You never even _talk_ to each other. You always avoid one another, like you're petrified that you'll have to exchange two words without the rest of us around."

"You don't understand," Lee insisted.

"Sure I do, you did it with me, too."

"What?"

"the second you realised you liked me, the second you knew that we had something, you screwed it up. First when you wouldn't agree we should be together, and then secondly when you pretended nothing had happened at my house. Pretended like we were always just friends."

"Seeing as you have everything so thought out, Sirius," she spat, "have you considered that maybe, just maybe, I didn't want you? Maybe I regretted getting involved with you, because you are a selfish, self-absorbed, narcissistic little boy who will _never_ grow up, _never _mature, because he's too busy feeling sorry for himself!"

"feeling _sorry _for myself?" I laughed, "what the hell does that mean?"

She stepped up to me, smiling, "you think you're the only person who's ever had a problem with their parents, but proof that you've had it easy is standing in the lounge room. You think you're the only one whose ever had to sort out their narcissism issues, or get over having dated a girl who is dating his friend, get over it. Been there, done that. You think you're the only one whose ever been lost or confused, or felt helpless, well you're not, Black. Most of us go through that kind of thing, but, here it is, we _get over it_. we keep on fighting, or pretending to be normal, and we _rarely_ take it out on somebody else."

"What?"

"You're angry that I'm leaving, and you know why? It's because I am the one person who is more screwed up than _you_ are, and you don't want to be the nutcase in the group. You want to feel in control, and together."

I felt like slapping her, "you are so full of it!" I shouted, "people don't take out their problems on other people? What the hell are you doing right now? You're taking your issues out on _me_!"

"You started it!" she hissed, throwing her hands in the air. Then, abruptly, she quieted, "and I will finish it."

She walked over to her suitcase, but I wasn't finished yet. I wanted to get it all in the open. I wanted to fight some more.

"You're running away again," I said quietly, trying to ignore how angry I was, "you did it with your brother, too."

She was utterly silent, "what would you know," she whispered finally, "I _had_ to leave."

"Oh I know," I told her, "I know you had to leave. But not to avenge your brother, was it? Or did you think I didn't see through all your crap. It was out of guilt. Guilt because when your father was shouting at your brother, you just stood there, didn't you? Just sat there and hoped it would all end soon. And it ended pretty quickly after that, didn't it"

I had gone too far, and at the same time, not far enough. Not by a long shot.

Lee was clutching the bedpost with white-knuckled hands, now, and breathing so harshly I thought she might be losing control, but when she looked up, and her huge eyes met mine, I knew that she had never been so together.

"_I_ left _my _brother?" she asked jaggedly, and then laughed, "well, I suppose that you would know, wouldn't you? I suppose you have every right to tell me off, being such an _expert_ on relationships."

"Don't go there," I said shortly.

"Where is your little brother right now, Sirius?" she asked now, eyes glinting maliciously. I felt a little frightened, "how _is_ he going? Well, I hope. Are you curious? I could ask him for you, and pass along the message, if you want to know. After all, you take such an interest in your family's welfare,"

"Shut the hell up," I snapped, "shut up right now. This is _not_ about me, this is about _you_. You will not turn this around onto me."

"Bella and Sissy were ever so grateful for your support, you know, when Andi ran away. God, they just could not stop singing your praises! So proud of you! But not nearly as happy with you as James was, when he found out you were screwing with Lily behind his back."

I breathed deeply and ran a hand through my hair, "ok. This is ok. Vent your frustration on me, by all means. I don't mind."

"Sure you don't," she said soothingly, "after all, if your brother idolises maniacs, that isn't any fault of yours. If your friends trust you blindly, you can't be blamed for taking advantage. It is only to be expected, after all."

Despite my resolve to simply let her talk, I found that I could not do it. I was a Black, and by god I would not stand by and let somebody give me hell.

"My brother? Well, no matter how little I've looked after him, I'm doing better than you, him still being alive, and not at all suicidal."

Lee grinned, "as though you would know if he were suicidal or not," she said patronisingly, "you don't bother paying attention to anything that doesn't wear a skirt."

"Well, well. Aren't you clever? You must've found a nice little English speaking boy to help you with your verbs."

"Well I wouldn't call him nice, but he _is_ a little boy." She hissed with a pointed glance at me.

"Well, I wonder what you were doing for _him_ in exchange?" I snapped.

Lee laughed harshly, "oh, you do flatter yourself, Black. But no, whatever fantasies you have going in your mind, you said it yourself, we never went there. In fact," she paused, "hmnn, I've only ever done it with real men. How are you finding Yves' old room, by the way. In the end he never used it much anyway. My bed was big enough."

Well, bringing the ex boyfriend into it was a little pathetic, not to mention below the belt, but considering that English isn't Lee's first language, I'll have to accept it as a reasonably shot.

And, I should point out, that little mention of Yves was enough to get me riled.

"Oh, I would _never_ flatter myself with that kind of nonsense." I said, "I should have remembered that you only throw yourself at prats and idiots."

"Well then, I suppose it's a wonder that _we_ never properly got together." Lee said calmly, and her mouth was curling up into a sort of malicious little smile.

"Oh, no," I replied instantly, "you would only ever develop a sense of _taste_ on special occasions, like funerals, remember my uncle's?" I could see her eyes darkening as I watched, "I wonder which lucky guy you jumped on at your mother's? My main question, however, is did you wait til you got back to the house to screw him, or did you just go all out at the graveside?"

She was very still and very quiet, "how _dare_ you." She said finally.

"Well," I shrugged, "like mother, like daughter. And I'm sure that there were _many_ eligible men there for you. All those cousins and whatnot. Or maybe you were especially lucky, and found a willing uncle? Who knows."

She remained extremely silent, and I wondered if she had just backed down from the fight. Insanely, even though she had stopped talking, I felt the need to torment her still hanging about my head. And so, cruelly, I kept going.

"But I suppose," I said, "that after your brother, it all became so-so."

And there it was. Offensive in the extreme Overstepping the mark by quite a bit. Leaping over it, perhaps would be a more accurate description.

But Lee said nothing. She _did_ nothing. I was reminded inexplicably of that night, was it only a month previously, when she left for France without me, and the way she had looked back at me over her shoulder.

For a long moment it was very, very quiet. And then, a snapping noise broke through the strange atmosphere. Lee had clasped her suitcase firmly shut.

And then, for the first time, she dropped her gaze, looking away from me, not with sadness or fear, but with something which brought to mind disgust.

"Aureilee?" a voice called from downstairs. Low, masculine and authoritative. I knew that voice. And I hated it, but now I had a reason; he was calling her like you'd call a dog to heel. A pedigree princess with all the breeding but still in need of some training, to make sure she didn't poop in front of his friends, and she got up on her hind legs and begged when he told her to.

"Un moment, pére," Lee answered, voice very calm.

She reached for her suitcase with hands that did not shake. Instantly contrite, I went to help her, but she stepped fluidly back, out of my hands, still holding her suitcase.

Without looking at me, but not seeming to avoid my gaze, she walked toward the door, with one last look at the mural behind her. She sighed, and I wondered if she would stop, throw down her suitcase and come right back to me.

But she didn't. Her eyes hardened suddenly, and her grip tightened. Her gaze drifted to me, and I froze where I stood at the blank rage I saw there.

"I want you to know," she said quietly, but firmly, "that you have made all of this much easier than I thought it would be. I am almost _eager_ to go."

And then?

Well, then she was gone.

I heard vague murmurings in French below me, and then the roar of a fire, which suddenly died down, and left my with the sound of Cat's frantic barking and whining as he scratched at the fireplace which his mistress had just vacated.

For a moment, I thought I'd go down and join him.


	24. Chapter 24

I am planning on doing us both a favour and skipping over the rather tedious and predictable response to my arrival at Hogwarts _without_ Lee.

Lily cried, copious amounts of water that had James ridiculously worried that she would get dehydrated, whilst the Slytherins, always eager for conflict, had come to the conclusion that I had disposed of her, and she would surface months from now, cut up into pieces and buried somewhere gruesome.

I told them all I could; Lee had not planned to return; her father had come to find her at the house and taken her away.

Out of fear for my life, I decided _not_ to share with Lily my less-than-friendly exchange with , by default i did not share it with James. Or Remus.

Annika.... well, i had already stated that i was far from suicidal.

Remus and I were still on reasonably good terms, a state of being which resulted from his acute embarrassment when he realised just how ridiculous he was being. We made a mutual decision to forget that anything had ever happened.

If there was one person who was happy that Lee was gone, it was darling Annika, who received very coldly the news that I had spent the night alone in Lee's apartment. Reasonable of her, really.

I assured her that we'd slept in different rooms.

"I was in _my_ room!" I'd insisted, "Lee was in hers."

Liar.

She forgave me later, out of pure joy that her only competition had disappeared so completely from the school, nae, the country.

Lily refused to talk to me. She was sure I'd said something (which I had), but after a while she accepted that Lee was always planning to leave without saying goodbye.

So, in that at least, Lee Dahlquist left Hogwarts much the way she'd arrived;

Without warning but accompanied by an inexhaustible stream of speculation and gossip. I am sure she would have been disappointed had it happened any other way.

Anyway, a month or so passed, and Lee was pretty much forgotten. We had other things to worry about.

For instance, we came back from term holidays to find that around half of the senior year Slytherins had missed the train. This was, initially, investigated, but Professor Dumbledore spoke to the students and, despite expectations of 'not to worry, adults business', was extremely straight with us.

"Unfortunately," he'd announced tiredly, "it seems that many of your schoolmates have seen fit to seek a different sort of education in their final year. I would ask that, while you do not follow their example, you try to empathise with their apparent wish for infamy and glory, of a sort. It is a pitiable thing, to value power over the lives of others; it suggests an insecurity quite deeply rooted in the minds of such young men and women. Hopefully, time and the memory of your friendship shall heal all such wounds within them."

I thought it a rather good speech, and told James that I did.

He scoffed, "yeah. Great. And _so_ meaningful."

I felt a little confused, seeing as how James was being a cynical bastard whilst I was being hopeful. I told James _that_, too.

He smiled, then shrugged, "the cynical bastard in you is still there. I was just thinking about that night club, and wondering how it is that our illustrious headmaster thinks people like that can change."

It was a reasonable point. I heard the screams again in my ears and shuddered. Annika squeezed my hand. She was, though she tried hard to deny it, insanely jealous that she'd missed out on such a dramatic experience, one which had been plastered all over the newspapers. When she'd shared this sentiment with me, I'd reacted in a way (and, so you don't think I'm crazy, I won't specify _which_ way) that made certain she'd never suggest such a thing again.

"Anyway," James announced, "yesterday, I heard Mira, you know, from the year below us? Slytherin?" I knew her. She looked like an angel, with skeins of long black hair and wicked eyes. We were quite intimately acquainted. James winked, "yeah, I figured you'd know her. Anyway, she was saying that it figured that everybody would follow Lee's example."

Other than Lily, none of us had really thought too much about Lee (that we'd admitted) so I gave James 'the look', but he just shrugged and frowned, "you do realise what she's on about? Everybody joining the death eaters! She reckons Lee…….."

I rolled my eyes, "ridiculous. I look on that with contempt. Lee, a death eater? Honestly."

James shrugged again, "you know that father of hers……."

"And she hates him," I pointed out, more than a little irritated, "I highly doubt that she would do _anything_ that he said."

"She left England," James pointed out.

"Well that didn't bloody _hurt_ anyone now, did it?" I ran a hand through my hair, "look, you didn't see her after…. That night. She was broken up. Totally a mess."

"Guilt?"

"Oh, you're not being funny, James," I snapped, and he shrugged.

"Sorry. I guess she's just on my mind since that letter."

Lily (still ignoring me) had received a lovely long letter from Lee, who'd apparently received none of Lily's essays, or was pretending she hadn't so as to avoid the seriously awkward questions which came along with them.

With some help from James, I was able to read this letter, which I will here dictate to you, with some improvisation because (being an idiot) I forgot the words.

_Lily, mon cher!_

_How are you? It has been a month, but it feels like longer, probably because everybody here is so French._

_But it is boring to speak about the French, and impossible to do in English, so I will move on from my ridiculously pretentious family._

_My father has hired a private tutor for me (apparently he believes that if I do not have an audience, I will behave) and I am learning with much enthusiasm about all things either mundane or twisted._

_It bores me to speak of this, but it seems the sort of thing one speaks about in letters. I have never written letters, really, but, here you are. I try, for you._

_I post this by way of my tutor, who seems under the impression that I will be ever so grateful for his help……. I tend to bat my eyelashes a lot in his classes. His name is Pierre and he is twenty three, one of the Grimauds of Paris, so of very acceptable background._

_Obviously my studies are not so important to my father. Indeed, were I not suspicious of Pierre's parentage (he looks a little too much like my grandfather once did) I would probably be utterly charmed._

_In any case, this peculiar method of correspondence does not allow for replies, so I am afraid that it will have to be on my part, for the most. _

_It is a pity, because I would like to hear how everybody is doing down there._

_Not much else has happened. I spend the evenings admiring the countryside (and the rather lovely groundsmen) and trying to avoid eating anything my somewhat crazed stepmother prepares for me. She seems to be under the impression that I am trying to seduce my own father, which is disturbing on so many different levels I have ceased to argue the point with her._

_What else to say? Not much. Give my love to whoever wants it. I am not picky._

_Here, I'll kiss the letter left and right, so that I can farewell you in the traditional European way, but, being French, I will not actually touch my lips to the paper, because that is vulgar and inexcusable. Air kisses, mon cher, are the only way to go._

_Bonjour._

_Xx_

Being Lee, she made absolutely no mention of having left so suddenly, nor apologised, even vaguely. Lily would have been irritated. I was irritated too, but mostly at the idea of this tutor. What a slut, that she'd contemplate sleeping with her half brother!

James was quite confused when I said that, "I think she means they might be cousins." He told me, "but sure, whatever. Half brother. Why not start _that_ rumour again, seeing as how it was so much fun the last time?"

I agreed, I was being ridiculous. We put the letter back and moved on.

More importantly for us, were exams, which were approaching, and career choices, which should have been made months before.

Well, such is life.

C'est la vie.

………………..

"Auror."

I looked at James, eyebrows raised, "Auror?"

He nodded deftly, "auror."

I thought for a moment, then shook my head, confused, "_auror?_"

James placed two fingers to his mouth, then shook his head back at me, "how are you not getting this? It's perfect!"

We had decided to have matching careers. We thought it would be brilliant.

Our opinions, however, tended to differ somewhat.

"That is the most ridiculous load of shit," I told him plainly, "you just want a cool job!"

James didn't deny it, instead he stared dreamily out the window. He'd sent a letter to his mother and father, to see whether or not they had any suggestions as to our futures, and his owl, Malvish, was notoriously slow. Until they wrote back with actually _sensible _suggestions, we were stuck mulling over the ridiculous.

"Can you imagine?" he asked now, smiling like a dope.

I tried not to laugh, "listen, my friend, I'm thinking this admirable scheme may not work so well as we'd hoped."

James looked concerned, and also very determined. Matching careers it would be.

I thought for a moment, then said, "professional quidditch players!"

James snorted, "you _suck_ at quidditch." He told me bluntly. I didn't mind.

"But," I reminded him, "I am unfailingly charming. Just the sort of poster boy they'd want. They could tie me to the broom, and I could just……" I wasn't entirely sure how best to illustrate my point with words, so I settled for waving my arms emphatically around my head, like I was throwing a quaffle or something.

James scoffed, "being bothered by wrackspurts, are we?"

I paused in my flailing, "wrackspurts?"

Shrugging, James inclined his head in the direction of a blond boy brandishing what looked like cooking tongs with wire attachments., "Xeno," he said by way of explanation.

I understood. Sort of.

"So, not quidditch, not aurors…… teachers?" James looked at me hopefully.

I met his gaze in disbelief, "you want to come _back _here?"

"Not _here_," he protested, "Maybe, Beauxbatons, or Durmstrang. Or, what was that Asian one called again?"

"Fao-ling." I told him, "and I think it might be Masebourn in Australia."

I considered it briefly, outlining the scene to James; Australia. Home to scantily clad (I'm thinking bikinis) blondes with tanned skin and long legs which came in handy when they used their most popular method of transport; the kangaroo.

"Are you actually retarded?" Lily's voice asked sharply as she sat down beside us, Annika in tow, "you think they _ride_ kangaroos in Australia?"

"Blondes? Why blondes?" Annika wanted to know.

"_Tanned_ blondes." I corrected her, and to Lily, "they must ride kangaroos. How else would they get through all that desert and scrub land?"

Lily's look became more scathing, "you think they were bikinis in the _desert_ while riding wild animals?"

I thought about it. It looked so pretty in my head, but…… "it does seem a bit far fetched."

"Anyway," Lily sniffed, "Masebourn is in Tasmania, so there aren't too many deserts around."

I resisted the urge to point out that Masebourn was Australian, not whatever this Tasmania was. Lily seemed to know what I was thinking anyway.

"Tasmania," she told me tiredly, "is _in_ Australia. It's an island off the bottom."

Muggle schools sure helped their students polish up their geography. An island, hey?

My bikini-clad kangaroo-riding desert-going blonds now weaved in and out of palm trees.

Annika rapped me sharply with her wand.

"Oi!" I protested, and she shook her head menacingly.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Lily asked now, leaning onto James casually. Still relatively stunned that she was speaking to me (and maybe because of Annika's violent approach to chastisement) I let James answer.

"Choosing our career." He told her.

Lily's brow furrowed, "_our _career?" she asked, "as in just the one career."

"Yeah. For the both of us."

Lily blinked slowly, apparently confused, "you've chosen the same career?"

"No," James was patient, "we are in the process of choosing the same career."

Annika now also looked confused.

"The _same _career, did you say?" Lily asked, apparently not following even now.

I smiled at her, "Lily flower, it really isn't that complicated a concept to grasp now, is it?"

She looked at me like I was a piece of filth beneath her toes; a look I had seen far too often, but not on this face.

"Ah." I said blankly, and Lily grinned triumphantly.

"Lee taught me," she chirruped lightly. Of course, Lee's infallible ability to spawn conflict even where none had been before was not limited to her physical presence. Lily's mood deteriorated rapidly. We all watched it, on her face.

"Hey," James draped an arm around her shoulder and she glowered, "so what do you think? Me and Sirius would be good teachers, hey?"

Lily scoffed and Annika rolled her eyes, "what would you teach?" she asked, quite reasonably, too.

_Too_ reasonably.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts." James suggested, obviously blurting out the first subject that came to mind.

"Sirius, _maybe_," Lily said with a smile, "but you? You'd just teach all the students how to make mushrooms grow in the privates of their enemies…… you're horrible at the _serious_ stuff."

James looked affronted, and, deviating from my role as loyal and strictly dishonest complimentary friend, I patted his shoulder, "it would be true, mate," I admitted, "I mean, you never even remember your _wand_ half the time."

It was true; whenever we moved with any speed, James would stop halfway with a 'wait- has anybody got my wand?'.

As though anybody _would_ have his wand.

He considered for a moment than shrugged, "oi, transfiguration."

I grinned manically, "Macgonnagal eat your heart out. A huge shaggy dog would be useful….. I could terrify any students who irritated me, and I would be irritated mostly by know-it-alls and goody two shoes."

James seemed to be thinking along the same lines, "give those Slytherins a shock," he waggled his eyebrows.

I think we realised simultaneously that teachers aren't actually allowed to penalise students based on their house. Back in our day, with Slughorn as SLytherin head of house, we didn't need to worry about anything, really. He was happy to suck up to anybody from any houses. Different from your Snape, but I'm sure that his own ridiculous prejudices are a product of mine and James' lovely policy considering inter-house relations with unattracive and extremely unhygienic members of the same sex as ourselves. Sorry, my bad.

It was now Lily's turn to think of a prospective career for us both.

We were insistent on that particular point; yes, us _both_.

"Bankers." She offered up finally, and was dealt with looks of scorn.

"I'm _dating_ you!" James gaped in anger, "you're meant to know me!"

Lily shrugged and then frowned, "hey, James. Is that Malvish battering on the window?"

It was. James let him in and removed the letter which was tied to his foot. He waggled his eyebrows at me, "you want to do the honours?" he asked with a smile.

I laughed and caught the envelope neatly, tearing it open.

I regretted it straight away.

The handwriting belonged to James' mother, but her usually meticulously neat writing was scrawled messily, and the ink was blotted with tears.

_Sweetheart,_ it read, _I have some truly horrible news for you and I'm not quite sure how to break it to you._

_Your father has been in an accident at the ministry. From what they've told us, he went out to answer a complaint and was caught in the middle of an attack. _

_Right now he's at St Mungo's, and I know that he'd love to see you. I've notified your headmaster. As soon as you receive this, you and Sirius are to proceed to his office and he will escort you over. _

_The healers say that he has a while left, but the curse was strong and I won't pretend that it isn't serious._

_I will see you soon, darling._

_Mum._

I suppose James saw my face fall, because he fairly ripped the letter from my hands, reading it frantically, his knuckles turning white because of the amount of force he was using to grip the paper.

I just kept seeing Mr Potter's face in the morning, calling out, "coffee, woman! I need something now!", and Mrs Potter acting all put out and insulted, but kissing him on top of his head as soon as he looked away.

I couldn't believe that he might be dying.

But James was the one who needed my help now, and I sprinted up the stairs to fetch his cloak, and mine, running down with it and draping it around his shoulders, "come on, mate, we should rush."

"Sirius!" Lily called, "he won't tell me what's going on."

I shook my head, "we have to run. There's been an accident, but he's safe, and Lee's safe. It's ok."

"_Lee's_ safe?" Annika asked archly, "is she here, then?"

"Does it bloody well look like I give a shit?" I snapped at her. Annika's capacity to be jealous was always demonstrated, even in the most inappropriate situations, although in her defence, she didn't have a clue what was happening.

James I bundled out of the door, barrelling him down the hallways, charging down the stairs….. straight into Professor MacGonnagal.

"Black!" she screeched, "go and find…..oh, Potter. Come quickly."

Together we streamed down the hall, myself gabbing to Macgonnagal about how James' mother had said I should come, too, and her ignoring me, muttering consoling things to James.

We got to the office in a rush. I realised, in a moment of clarity, that I had never stood where I was then without having committed some major misdemeanour first. I wasn't 'in trouble' today, and yet at the same time, I was in more trouble than I'd been in for a while.

Dumbledore met us with a sage and sombre smile, "straight into to fireplace, Mr Potter." He said calmly. James stumbled forwards, dazed.

He blinked twice, then seemed to register that I was still standing with MacGonnagal, "Sirius….." he said hoarsely, and Dumbledore shook his head.

"Mr Black will follow in a moment," he said kindly, "although, Mr Potter, I must enquire as to the whereabouts of your wand. Sadly, in such times as this, you should not be without it."

James frowned, patting at his back pocket, then looked up at us, still confused.

I grinned, "here, Prongs, take mine." I shoved it at him, "you can give it back in a second. Go!"

James went in a burst of green flame, and his eyes, still confused, still shocked, were the last things I saw.

Dumbledore turned to me with a kind smile and placed a hand on my shoulder, "you and Mr Potter will have to remain nearby St Mungo's for the duration of the elder Mr Potter's stay. I understand from Monsieur Dahlquist that you in fact have a house available to you there?"

I nodded, "yeah, mine." Then I frowned, "Dahlquist? Lee? Is she here?"

He shook his head, "_monsieur_ Dahlquist, Mr Black. Her father. Who, incidentally, after discovering your, shall we say 'living arrangements' with his daughter, was most adamantly against your returning to the school."

Like I cared, "so, is Lee here?"

"No. I believe she is in France. I don't see why she would be back." Dumbledore told me, sounding tired, "now, Mr Potter and yourself will be out of school for some days, so I will require your address, simply so I can send your assignments by owl."

I gave it to him and he smiled in thanks.

"Good, Mr Black. Now go, your friend needs you now."

I went. As I did, though, I realised something I had been telling myself wasn't true. While James needed me, as a friend, I needed somebody else. I needed Lee. I needed her gentle sarcasm, her temper. I needed her arguments to distract me, and her smile to make me feel better.

But she wasn't there.

I was losing my father, as surely as James was, and she wasn't there.

I hated her for that.

Without her present, it was I who needed to be strong for James. And that meant I couldn't be weak myself.

…………………….

I came out in the main hall of St Mungo's, and a nurse dragged me over straight away, yanking my arm out of its socket.

"We've been waiting," she snapped at me.

I wondered just how bad it was that I, the glorified friend-of-the-family, had an escort to the room. At the same time I was relieved; if they were rushing me to see him, it meant he was still alive.

"What happened?" I demanded. The nurse pursed her lips.

"False alarm is what happened. Somebody called the ministry, they send out a team and their team is ambushed. That's all I know."

"Casualties?" I snapped back at her.

"So far? One."

"One?" I said, "that's not as bad as I thought. So there's a chance for the others?"

The nurse nodded, "yes. Really, it was lucky that they were hit on that angle. If the curse had gone any more left or right……. Let's just say it would have been much worse."

"I'm so glad," I breathed, slowing my pace, "so they'll be alright?"

She nodded again, "all but the one."

"Poor bastard," I shook my head, "but I'm thankful."

"You would be," the nurse said, "but not to worry, she'll be fine."

I paused, "I'm sorry?"

The nurse turned back to me, "Miss Hexington. She will recover."

"Who?"

"Your sister……." The nurse frowned, "you're Marius Hexington?"

I shook my head, feeling dread seep through me, "Sirius Black."

She cocked her head to one side, "Black……. But there's nobody in for you."

I gulped, feeling my tongue thickening in my mouth, "I'm- I'm with the Potters." I whispered, and watched her face fall.

"Oh." She said simply, and I felt the world spinning around me. I had to swallow down the bile that had risen in my throat. My heart was pounding a hundred miles a minute, "oh, I didn't know."

I took a deep breath, feeling the air ragged in my throat, but it was soothing. A little. I felt myself calming, "which room?" I asked simply.

She pointed.

It was that much of a chance. One of those weird coincidences, one in a million odds that happen and surprise everybody. Mr Potter's body was on just the right angle, for just the right period of time at just the right moment in just the right position to take the full brunt of the hex. The others he was with survived because of that freak occurrence.

Weirdly, had he been a centimetre left or right, or had his shoulders on a different slope, or even paused for a second before he took that fatal step, he would have survived.

But not many people can live through seven bolts of pure element searing through their body, and Mr Potter was no exception, no fluke like his grandson.

For a while I know James wished that his father had been on that slightly different angle, but the fact is that if he had been, he would have lived but they reckon at least two others would have died and in fact nearly did.

So. One life that means a lot, or two that mean nothing. To James and I, anyway.

As somebody with strong morals, James agonised over wishing that his father had turned to look out the window, or to speak to a friend and missed those curses. I wasn't allowed to agonise; I looked after James and his mother.

I am not sure if Harry told you that his entire family was killed by Voldemort. You see, most people think of Lily and James, but there were more. Much more. The Potters proved, during that war, to be one of the most unlucky families in the wizarding world; not one disaster would occur without affecting them; a situation which emerged due to the entire family's rage at the death of bumbling, charming, jocular Mr Potter. You see, nobody is more loyal than a Potter, and they were incensed at his death. so incensed that almost everybody became an active participant in the battle against the death eaters overnight. James included, but more on that later on.

We spent the night at Lee's, James and I, and I noticed that the place still smelt like her. I gave James my room, and took hers. Cat was living with the neighbour, who gladly returned him, and I shoved her in with James, who didn't want to be alone, but definitely didn't want to ask me, a guy, to spend the night in his room.

I did anyway, sitting in a chair. I pretended I couldn't sleep.

When James started crying, I pretended I couldn't hear it, instead darting back to St Mungo's via the flu network to bring his mother home.

Mrs Potter took Lee's room for a while, but early in the morning she came into mine and climbed into bed with James, and they hugged and cried for a bit.

I left, going to Lee's room to sleep for what little was left of the morning.

Of course, last time I was in there, we'd just narrowly escaped death, and I was back now because of another, more painful death. Technically, I should have been associating the place with pain, but it just made me think of Lee which wasn't so bad. The pillow still smelt like her, which was odd, but nice, and it made me feel not so alone.

I needed that, because just then, with my best friend and his mum relying on me, the inappropriate, immature, idiot friend, I was having to grow up pretty damn fast.

And I would have wanted nothing more than to have her there with me.


	25. Chapter 25

If it is all the same to you (and I will assume it is) I won't go into details regarding just what happened in the days and then weeks following Mr Potter's death.

Some people would say that becoming taciturn on this particular phase of my life is, if anything, foolish. They would consider those weeks a shining beacon of goodness in my black pit of a life, and so would expect me to toot my own horn, so to speak.

I refuse to do so. Perhaps, in those weeks, I was good. I know I was very responsible, and clear headed. I know I put together the funeral arrangements while looking after James and his mother; I know I helped with all the paper work.

Without seeming overly immodest, I know that I was an immense help to them during that period, and though I won't go so far as to say that they would not have gotten through it without me (the Potters, of course, had many friends), I did indeed do my best to ensure that the weeks were as easy as they could be.

Of course, this does not mean they were easy. But you, mysterious somebody, would know about that. You would know how it feels to lose a parent, that I am aware of.

In any case, I will not speak in great detail of those few weeks, because, whether or not I proved myself to be a good man in that time, I do not think it important. Such a time should not be thought of as anything other than bad, no matter how well you handled yourself.

I will tell you just three things about it:

First, we all stayed in Lee's apartment for quite a while. Mrs Potter didn't feel comfortable returning home, and it wasn't as though staying in my parents' house was a viable option. And, speaking literally here, I actually owned the apartment, so it was completely legal.

Second, I arranged the funeral to be a, well, respectable affair. I can't really think of appropriate adjectives to describe a funeral, but it was a, well, fine(?) day. In any case, James would later mention to me (one of the only times the subject ever arose between us again) that he felt his father would have been pleased with the outcome.

Perhaps 'outcome' was the wrong word to use here….

Moving briskly along to third, without Dumbledore, I would never have made it past the chapel doors.

I was under rather a lot of pressure during those weeks, and I caved rather dramatically on the actual day of the funeral, whereupon such copious amounts of people arrived that the little chapel, which had seemed so appropriate before, was rendered comically inadequate.

As the Potters were rather unhelpfully morbid, it was left to me to try and find a solution to this: a resolution which ended with me sitting, shoeless, tieless and about to become shirtless on the chapel floor, trying desperately to remember a spell for expanding things.

It was here that Dumbledore found me, and I have always found it a credit to the man that he did not comment on my apparent strip tease, but merely sat beside me on the ground, removed his own shoes, and sighed.

"It has been a difficult week," he told me with a quirk of his lips.

We sat in silence for a little while longer, "the church is too small," I announced, "and I can't quite get the spell right."

Dumbledore said nothing.

"I think I'm just tired," I told him, worried I would seem incompetent, "I haven't had a lot of sleep lately. And it is so difficult to- to manage this. All of this. With no help." My voice was cracking. I was mortified.

"Not that I'm _angry_ at anyone. I mean, everybody who could help has been to help. Everybody who mattered was there to assist in whatever way we needed. It wasn't like anyone left the situation unacknowledged, or didn't even contact us. It wasn't like they ignored everything that happened and just continued with their lovely lives in their lovely villas…"

I realised I was beginning to sound quite insane and returned to silence.

Momentarily.

Because, mysterious somebody, I knew then that I was angry, I was furious. But not with anyone who apparently cared.

I was angry with Lee.

"I'm not wearing my shoes. Or my shirt, or my tie," I ventured, "because it was starting to get a little stuffy in here."

"I understand completely," Dumbledore agreed with a sombre nod, "it is quite impossible to work when it is stuffy."

We sat in silence for a little longer, and his very presence was calming. The outside noise was rather muffled by the thick church walls, but I could tell the guests were arriving.

It was feeling less stuffy by that stage, and so I tried once more to enlarge the church.

It worked. A little lopsided, but done.

Dumbledore patted my shoulder, "well done, Mr Black," he said softly, "you've done such a wonderful job."

I'm not sure he was talking about the church.

Oh dear. I have gone off on a tangent. Quite unforgivable, because I so meant for this to be brief. Talking of death with you, mysterious somebody, is strangely impossible.

I wish you to remember the happy times. The times when I was a person you would wish to know. I do not want you to associate me forever with death.

And so I shall skip sharply ahead to my return to school.

…..

"Ah. Mr Black. Returned to us, I see." Macgonnagal looked annoyed, but sounded sympathetic. Her heart wasn't in it, I think.

"It appears that way, professor," I said tiredly, "but if you want, I'd be happy to leave again."

Mild laughter from the class. Macgonnagal adopted an expression of exasperated pride. I like to think she was admiring my emotional stamina and ever-ready wit, "just take your usual seat, Mr Black."

I grinned her way, then turned my beaming smile toward the rest of the class, whereupon it faded somewhat. If Macgonnagal had picked up on my lack of tolerance for misplaced sympathy, the others certainly hadn't. The expressions on their faces betrayed them: I had become, for one of the very first times in my life, a victim.

Where was the awe? The admiration? I disliked this pity, so foreign to me, so odd. So… well, off. It chafed at my pride.

Did no one feel simple happiness at seeing my face? Must I be regarded as a victim from now on?

Apparently so, for everybody in the class continued to stare at me.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. I was tired, no, exhausted, and in no mood to convince a group of teenagers that their puppy dog eyes meant little to me.

"Right." I murmured, and took my seat. Before my but had fully sunk into the chair, though, I had stood up again, "look, I'm glad that you all empathise with me. I'm glad you care. But your pity _wounds_ me; it just makes it so much worse." I took a deep breath, "so I'd really appreciate it if you could keep somewhat normal expressions on your faces when James comes in. He won't be able to handle this."

Again, while on my way to sit, I stood again, "and sorry for the interruption, professor," I gave a little bow, "I swear on my soul and the lives of my classmates that I shall never _ever_ besmirch your wonderful words of wisdom with my own imbecilic ramblings _ever_ again."

"A promise we all take comfort in, no doubt." Macgonnagal drawled, "now, as I was saying…

I promptly tuned out, drumming my fingers against my desktop and fingering the little rectangular mirror in my pocket; my one link to James, and one we had not used in days now.

Usually we could not bear to stay out of contact for an hour, but I had arrived back at school late the night before (and stayed out of sight until this, seventh period) without a whisper from the mirror.

And he'd barely talked for days beforehand. I knew instinctively that we would not speak until he arrived at school, two days from now.

"Hey, hey, Black!" Kingsley was leaning over his chair, looking at me.

"Yeah?"

He smiled apologetically, "I know that this isn't the time, but have you heard anything from-"

"Shacklebolt," Macgonnagal drawled, "are the principles of complex transfiguration interrupting your social life?"

"Not at all, professor." Kingsley, "my apologies."

This, mysterious Estelle, was a little bit of a surreal experience for me. Not being told off after talking in class? Usually it was pinned as my fault even if it wasn't. Suddenly, I was most annoyed.

Without a word of explanation, I stood up, shoving my chair back so that it scraped against the floor.

"Black, take your seat, please," Macgonnagal said dismissively.

"I don't want to." I said honestly.

"And I do not care. Take your seat,"

I felt my lips curl into a scowl and promptly knocked all my books and quills and inkwells off of the table and onto the floor, where everything sprayed out in a huge mess.

One of the Slytherin girls squealed in protest as ink splattered her robes.

"What are you doing?" Macgonnagal asked, still quite irritatingly calm.

"Asserting myself," I snapped, "I'm not sitting down."

"Then go see Professor Dumbledore," Macgonnagal suggested, sounding, and I kid not, actually sympathetic.

"Piss off," I snapped again, "I'm going for a walk, not for a counselling session."

And thus, I left.

…

The next few days, I indulged in some of the most pointless little rebellions of my life.

They were none of them amusing or entertaining, but rather all disruptive, rude and childish.

And yet, no matter how extravagant my pranks, I was never met with anger, but merely infuriating understanding.

It drove me insane.

Annika and Lily were beside themselves, but I didn't care. Peter went along with whatever I did, particularly enjoying the more malicious of my little disruptions, but Remus…. Ah, Remus. Every night, when I had finished my tantrums, I would sit out by the lake, and Remus would always join me. Just sitting quietly, a silent presence by my side.

This all ended on the third night, when, after I managed to alter the ceiling of the Great Hall to hail down on the diners (I was remarkably good at charms) I returned to my room to find a shell-shocked looking James, seated on my bed.

In his hand he was holding an obituary, published by the Daily Prophet, as well as a sheaf of other articles, all about Death Eaters, and all criss-crossed with notes and underscores.

"Hey, Prongs," I murmured, sitting down next to him.

"Why are you wet?" he asked, in a small voice. Then, slightly more confident, "what the hell is all of this stuff?"

Because, you see, the articles were mine.

I swallowed guiltily, "it's- uh- research, mate," I admitted, "research into- well, you know. All this stuff."

James nodded absently, "found anything out?" he asked, voice hushed, still clutching the obituary.

"Uh- yeah, a little, actually." I pulled out a piece of parchment, "so, all of this seems to trail back to this one guy- this 'Voldemort'- and they reckon that he's actually a half blood called Tom Riddle. Used to go here, actually. And he's got a pretty substantial following…"

Here my courage faltered. The words were on the tip of my tongue, _'like Bella and Reg'_, but I couldn't voice them. I just couldn't do it, couldn't admit to this newest shame. Couldn't admit that I knew.

James, meanwhile, was waiting, watching me curiously. I swallowed, "yeah… most of the pureblood families are involved in some way, I reckon, but they don't actually have names, and they're always wearing these masks…."

James scoffed, "can you imagine," he said, dry mouth, "that I used to joke about Lee being one…. I can't imagine- I can't imagine her….."

"She'd never go for this." I assured him, "never. No one who was worth your time would."

_Blood traitor_, I could hear my mother hiss, as I disowned my family once again.

There was a long moment of silence before James voiced shakily, "he never really figured to be afraid, I think. He didn't want to believe there was such ugliness in the world. He didn't want to know. He always just trusted everybody….."

A very true statement. I shivered.

"Hey, Padfoot," James half whispered, "do me a favour? Stop researching this. I don't want to know."

I feel i should here interrupt the narrative with a personal note: I did not, in fact, cease my research, although James was never to know. In fact, my apparent 'fascination' with the death eaters, remembered by many of my old classmates, teachers and the witnesses i chased up to question, was a contributing factor to the case against me, after the Potters' deaths. But, Estelle, though i do not deny my deep 'interest', i will tell you honestly that it was never more that an attempt to assure myself that my family was not involved.

In other words, it was a truly impressive case of denial.

….

Something awful has happened, mysterious Estelle.

Something to bring back all the memories, everything I have kept buried deeply all these years- something even now, nobody really speaks of.

And it has happened to Arthur Weasley.

Arthur, who so puts me in mind of poor Mr Potter, Arthur, who is just as sweet and kind an inoffensive.

How is it always those with the most to lose are the ones to lose it?

How is it always the most deserving who lose everything?

If I had been guarding that door, instead of Arthur, who would have mourned my fate? Lamented my passing- for I am too old and too jaded to pretend that it is not likely that Arthur will die.

People with people to lose should not have to risk it, or them. And yet, in our cause this is impossible. Because everybody present here is a good person (as their very presence evidences) and therefore has family and friends to lose.

Everybody, that is, except Mundungus and Snape.

And me.

The only ones who would have truly mourned my passing slipped through my fingers years ago.

And the one who should have mourned the most- I lost her even earlier than the others.

…..

"Is she here?"

"What?" Remus blinked, confused, letting me push the door open and go past him into the corridor, "is she- no. No, why would she be here?" a slight pause, "Sirius, what did you do?"

I strode through the corridor, scanning the rooms for a sight of her, but she wasn't there.

"Did you fight again?" Remus was asking calmly, "did you say something- do something…."

"I haven't seen her, alright?" I snapped, then stopped, collapsing against the corridor wall, "I haven't seen her in almost three days now."

Remus face fell, "three days?"

I thumped my head methodically against the wall in a pointless attempt to vent my frustration. Remus, ever more practical and less flamboyant, ran a hand through his hair and strode purposefully over to the fire, reaching for the floo powder.

"Have you asked Mad Eye?" he murmured, pushing aside different jars to grasp the floo powder pot at the back of his cupboard.

"No." I said through my hands, "but she's not there. She's nowhere…."

"Lily and James…?"

"Remus, I just told you she's nowhere." I shouted, "nobody's seen her. Nobody! Not in days. You were the last person I came to…"

I would later realise how much that statement had hurt Remus. How could it not, the implication that she cared for him least of all? He said nothing at the time, merely threw some powder onto the fire and whispered an address.

"James? Oh, hello Lily."

I winced in anticipation of the conversation that was about to take place. Lily would be in no way pleased.

"No, nothing's wrong," Remus said calmly, "well, actually, Sirius is here with me and he says that-," there was an abrupt halt in Remus' declaration; Lily had interrupted, "yes," he continued now, "yes he said she was- what? When? When was that?" I looked up, daring to hope, just a little, "she said…? Are you sure? Well did she say where?" another pause, "what do you mean you didn't ask? No, Lily, we need to know." A pause, "Sirius deserves to know. Whatever it was that he did."

I wasn't so sure, myself.

Apparently, neither was Lily.

"Come on, Lily!" Remus snarled, "imagine it was James. You would want to know, wouldn't you? How would you know that?" and then, "James? Thank God. You have to help. Sirius is here and he says- you too? Come on, James; he's your best friend."

"Stop!" I said, somewhat weakly, and Remus paused, "stop- asking- stop asking where she is, and start asking if she's alright? Is she okay?"

Remus pulled his head from the fire, looking defeated- his hair streaked through with soot, which combined with his facial expression to make him seem much older than his years.

"She doesn't know if she's fine, Sirius," he said, voice devoid of emotion, "she's just- gone."

…

The next morning after James' return, or perhaps a few mornings after that, I noticed a little notice in the Prophet.

Or rather, I received a little notice in the prophet in the form of Sissy's friends throwing a balled up piece of newspaper at me.

"They're so spoiled." Lily observed through pursed lips, as the girls giggled and flounced, "look at them."

I didn't bother, I knew what I'd see.

"I can't really understand why they won't leave you alone." Remus observed mildly, "you'd think they'd given up on you by now."

There was a simple reason for this, which I was aware of, but which nobody else seemed to have noticed.

"They want the glory of reclaiming you," Lily piped up, rather suddenly, and with a frown on her face, "each of them dreams of being the girl to bring the famous Black sheep back into the pureblood fold."

James, lying uncharacteristically silent, with his head in her lap, shrugged as if to say, 'women'.

Annika, lying similarly uncharacteristically silent, with her head in _my_ lap, shifted her weight, and pulled herself into my lap, legs dangling across my arms, as if to say 'mine'.

I, meanwhile, shot a look at Lily, who, feeling my regard, smiled gently at me, "oh, it was just something somebody observed to me once," she said, by way of explanation for her un-Lily-like, though accurate, comment.

Inexplicably, in answer to this, Annika actually managed to wind herself _more _around me. I could see no reason for such behaviour, and resented it, as it was making breathing difficult.

"They're coming over," Peter panted, with a grin which worried me a little. I twisted around, shielding my eyes against the sun.

Two Slytherin fifth years were standing there, giggling.

"Did you open it?" one asked, boldly, and her friends snickered.

"Your rubbish? No. I was rather worried that I might catch something off of it." I answered honestly.

They giggled, "really," I intoned seriously, "it's actually very unhygienic."

"But we thought you'd like it!" one of the girls- suffering, I might add, cruelly, from a rather dramatic monobrow, "after all, it's as close as you'll come to an actual invitation."

Now I _did_ want to smooth out the paper. Not.

"how exciting." I drawled, "but before I go playing with other people's scraps, you'll have to let me re-evaluate my personality. See, I didn't think I was the type to scramble for 'almost-invites', but I can double check, if you wish?"

They were momentarily quiet, so, amiably, I continued, "but wait, last time I checked I _know_ I wasn't the type to question myself for snot-nosed little blood-snobs, so- actually, I won't."

Mono-brow tried again, "it's as close as you'll come," she warned again, "to a _wedding_ invite."

Lily's eyebrows snapped up into her hairline, "Bellatrix?" she asked, incredulous.

"She's only 18," I pointed out, slightly dazed, "what, is she pregnant?"

"18year olds can fall in love." Mono-brow declared imperiously, "and their blood was perfect."

"the only thing 18year olds can fall into is trouble." I snapped, "just look at the Dahlquists…"

Awkward silence.

Broken, surprisingly, by James viciously cutting in with, "no, Sirius is probably right. After all, no doubt they have to breed more little inbred-purebloods for the ranks of the Death Eaters. Reckon Bella would make a wonderful breeder. Combine her with Lestrange and you get an army of superior, temperamental, spoiled, slutty little shits, who in a couple of generations will have three legs and five eyes each."

His own eyes flashed and zeroed in on mono-brow, "three legs, so they can kick three muggles at once, and five eyes, so they can look in the mirror as they do it. But I guess they only need one eyebrow, if you're the original model."

"James!" Lily said, evidently shocked by his outburst.

Mono-brow actually looked offended. And I actually felt mildly guilty. You see, she didn't quite deserve that. She hadn't done anything so terrible that she needed to be mocked.

James, incidentally, said nothing, but merely resumed his lying in Lilly's lap, without batting an eyelid.

"I'm sorry…" Lily said helplessly, and mono-brow shook her head mutely. Her laughing friends' giggles had quietened.

I felt sorry for her. At least until she smirked and said, "well, at least Bella's children will grow up with both parents, seeing as how Lestrange isn't stupid enough to walk straight into a trap and get himself blown to bits. Hope you got your blood-traitor mother's brains, or your mudblood children with Evans will grow up fatherless, too."

James would never hit a girl.

I would never hit a girl.

Lily, however, had no such compunction.

And she slapped mono-brow one like I've never seen a girl do before.

I was gaping, Lupin was blinking so rapidly I thought his eyes would fall out of his head, Annika was struck momentarily dumb, James was gazing at her- awestruck. I think even Lily was shocked at herself, for it was after all, entirely out of character.

Never again would I see Lily do anything of the sort. But of course, I have not mentioned that, during the period after his father's death, Lily was constantly at James' side, a strong, warm presence which he relied on, perhaps more than he did on I, for neither of could ever truly bear to look weak before the other.

But Lily was different. They had _something_, something so wholesome, so perfect that I doubt it can ever truly exist again.

I suppose the Weasleys might compare. Yes, I can see that James and Lily may have been such after 20years together, though of course we will never know.

They certainly had more than I had ever had with anyone. Or at least, a very different sort of relationship.

In any case, Mono-brow put a hand to her face and gaped. And James, taking one look at first her face, and then Lily's (caught between self-righteousness and guilt) and burst out laughing.

He laughed so much that the girls went away. He kept laughing, rolling on the ground, as Remus shot him a smile and loped off, Peter close behind.

And when I pulled Annika to her feet, and led her away, he didn't even notice.

It was just him, and Lily, with her hand on his shoulder, and all those who'd been present earlier pretended not to have noticed when his laughter turned to tears.


	26. Chapter 26

I am sorry that it has been a little while, Estelle, but rest assured, I will update you and leave very few details undescribed.

Arthur is fine.

And Harry is here.

I lied before, I do not want to go into any more depth than this. I can feel the tug of memories every time I look around this godforsaken apartment, and they call me back, call me back to when I was young and free.

Back when I was beloved by the wizarding community; a beacon of witty, faultlessly attractive hope.

You know, alcoholics drink to forget. I don't know why they would do such a thing. All my happiness resides in my memories, in my past. When i drink (and i am sorry to have to admit to you that i do. I do drink) i drink to make the memories come easier. To urge them in. To help me relive my past happiness.

What sort of pathetic human being peaks at highschool? What sort of individual reaches his potential when he is 17?

I don't want to talk about Arthur. I don't want to talk about Harry, even.

I want to talk about James, and Lilly, and Remus, and Annika. I want to talk about all of them, and I know that this makes me a selfish person- a _bad_ person, because it means I don't care enough about those around me.

I'm too busy caring about those who _were_ around me.

I feel them still, I miss them still.

And if I can live with them in memory alone, then I will do that. By God, it is better than sitting here, wondering how Arthur is holding up because I will never be allowed to visit that hospital to see for myself.

This entry may be disjointed, however, because I _do_ wish to spend more time with my godson, now that he is here.

Just not as much as I should.

Still, I can remember holding him as they christened him. I can remember_ her_ smiling almost proudly as I tried so hard not to break the fragile little bundle called 'Harry' that they'd placed in my arms.

I can remember the feel of his hair- so soft and downy, and his chubby little fingers. I remember Lilly's soft hands adjusting my hold on him.

'_Not too tightly, Sirius. Why do you always hold on to things so tightly?'_

What a brilliant question. I wouldn't mind knowing the answer myself.

James was smiling that day.

I can't actually remember the next time I saw him smiling. Everything went so wrong after that.

…

"Mr Black," Professor Macgonnagal sighed, and pressed her fingers against her temples. Unbelievable. Had I actually managed to frustrate her into a headache?, "I'm not sure you are understanding the gravity of this situation."

I leant forwards, "Professor," I confessed, "you may be right." She pursed her lips and I pushed the front legs of my chair off the ground, rocking backwards in a way I considered dashing and debonair. Macgonnagal had a look on her face which indicated that she disagreed with this assessment of my behaviour.

"Stop being a twit, Mr Black," she drawled, now actually massaging her head, "this is your future we are speaking of."

"I didn't think I was speaking of anything." I admitted, "I thought this was a social meeting."

Again, those lips pursed. They were shrinking back into her face. Soon, she would have no mouth at all, "a month off of your graduation, and you with not a hint of a future plan, and you thought I would call you in for a _social_ meeting?"

"I had hoped."

"Your grades are good. Better than good, when you actually complete set assignments." Macgonnagal continued, undeterred. She had obviously realised that expecting me to participate in the conversation was hopelessly optimistic, and was therefore proceeding without me, "of course, they were better- almost regular, Mr Black, up until two months ago. Can you offer any explanation for this?"

Not really, mysterious somebody, I couldn't. In fact, this was news to me. I considered.

"Well, that was possibly when Professor Dirriweather was _informed_ of my actual existence as a live student of his divination class," I mused, "maybe I'm not very good at divination, and it's only now coming out."

The Professor did hate me rather a lot now, though he could not help but be a little scared of me, despite himself.

I _had_ found this most gratifying, until now, when it seemed he had been dropping my grades.

"What are you going to do with your life?" Macgonnagal asked now, exasperated.

"_Not_ divination," I observed, trying to peek at the marking sheet she held, "if my grades are so low."

"All your grades have dropped." Macgonnagal sounded on the verge of a tantrum, "_all_. Professor Dirriweather has not actually begun grading you yet," she paused, "he is rather more superstitious than one would expect from a wizard, and so has yet to _accept_ your status as a student. What are you doing differently?"

"Nothing." I insisted.

"Whom do you study with?"

I scoff even now, writing this. "Study? Me?"

"With whom do you complete your homework assignments? Is it Mr Potter? Miss Wandsworthy? Miss Evans? Mr Lupin?"

"Yeah, all of those," I answered, waving my hand vaguely.

"Well, something has changed," Macgonnagal observed, peering at the sheet again. I was _so_ curious about that sheet!, "perhaps- although, I may be jumping to conclusions- Miss Dahlquist?"

I felt my heart do an unexpected flip, "oh, yeah." I shrugged, "_her_."

There was an awkward silence, "look, is this important? Really?" I asked finally, "I mean, you're a teacher. Aren't you glad there is one less person around to distract me from my studies?"

"Well, if we are to go by your more recent results," Macgonnagal said prudently, "it would seem that Miss Dahlquist distracted you from your _social_ life, and rather usefully redirected your attention to your studies, rather than the other way around."

"Why won't you tell me what career James ended up nominating?" I demanded, segueing somewhat obviously back to an old, tired conversation topic. James had just finished his career counselling meeting, and been ushered away before I could find out which career he had selected.

This was making our decision to maintain solidarity on the career front a little difficult to uphold.

"I have already said I will not," Macgonnagal sighed (effectively distracted), "it is time you two accepted that you are not, in fact, joined at the hip, and can actually experience _different_ emotions, ambitions and aspirations."

"Duly noted and accepted. You're exactly right. Now, i am a changed man," I announced grandly, "so, now that's done- what'd he pick?"

Her eyes narrowed, "flobber-worm groomer." She said, deadpan.

My respect for her doubled.

"Sounds wonderful," I declared, slapping a hand on the table, "I'll have what he's having."

"Try and mature a little in the next four minutes, Mr Black," Macgonnagal sighed again, "or I may be forced to transfigure you into something less attractive."

"So you find me attractive," I beamed.

"Merlin's Beard!" she half screeched, "you are intolerable!"

"My mother is of a similar opinion," I said sympathetically, "just think how much easier it would be for you if I just knew what James picked, and then we could be finished!"

She snorted in an entirely indelicate fashion, "honestly, Black, are there any depths which you have not already sunk to and settled at?" i assumed she didn't want the answer to that question (no). She shook her head, "well, what do _you _think he chose?"

Mysterious somebody, I had been hoping that she wouldn't pull that card.

I had a serious think. What would he like to do for the rest of his life?

One thing's for sure- he wouldn't want many restrictions. He'd want to be his own boss, without some dictator looking constantly over his shoulder.

Not to say he wouldn't want some sort of boss. He'd want guidelines to follow. But that is specifically _guidelines_. Not rules, GUIDELINES.

I shared this logic with Macgonnagal, in all probability stunning her with my impressive powers of deduction.

"So, what sort of job? Teacher?" she drawled.

"God, no," I was flabbergasted, "nothing like that, nothing with a _desk_ that you have to sit behind. Something where you're always moving around. That is what he'd like. Always on the go. Always doing something new."

"Naturally," Macgonnagal said soothingly. I assumed that this meant I was on the right track, "so, possibly- an auror?"

"Possibly," I conceded, "he might like that."

"Even though he'd have to cleave to the laws, instead of overriding them?" Macgonnagal asked, clearly playing devil's advocate.

"A good point," a accepted, "but I think he'd probably enjoy being that 'rebel' auror that people talk about. You know, like that cop the muggles talk about. Dirty Harold, or something?"

She didn't know. But then, it wasn't important, in the grand scheme of things.

"Although," she said now, "he _does_ like writing. What about as an investigative journalist, or some such profession? Doing difficult pieces about current issues?"

That sounded great. Sounded exciting and fresh, and ever changing…

And nothing like what James would want.

"What exactly are you doing?" I asked shrewdly, finally cottoning on. Macgonnagal shrugged evilly, "we weren't ever talking about James were we?"

"No. But we now have some viable options for your future. I am quite pleased with this outcome. In fact, I would suggest that both these career paths are suited to you. You should seek out individuals currently employed in these professions. Perhaps Alistair might be of service….." she murmured to herself, "but I'd be loathe to ask that awful Skeeter girl for advice…."

"Professor?" I asked, tentatively.

She looked irritated at the interruption, "honestly, Black, are you _still_ here?" she snapped, "when I need you, you can't get out fast enough, but the second you're finished, you refuse to budge. Begone, contradictory child!"

I went.

Completely at a loss.

Annika was outside, sulking against a column, "you said you'd be five minutes." She pointed out.

"The woman is a tough old biddy," I said tiredly, "she wouldn't let me go.

Annika shook her head, then paused, "so, career?"

"I now have two," I told her, and she looked surprised. Not as surprised as I did, I'm certain, "auror or journalist."

"Auror." Annika announced confidently. Then paused, "no, journalist. Definitely."

"Why?"

"Safer," she answered promptly, "and you'd be famous."

"I'd be a sissy,"

"You could do what nobody else did. Or maybe- no, auror. For sure. This time for sure."

Annika, evidently, was little help when it came to making decisions. And I needed somebody decisive, "I have to tell James. Want to come?"

She did, and so we proceeded on to the Lake, where James was sitting with Lily, playing with his snitch.

Lily looked irritated, probably because the snitch kept butting into her head, or fluttering its wings in her eyes. But she said nothing, because James was obviously enjoying the game.

Besides, as we both knew full well, it was the first time he'd demonstrated his love for quidditch since his father's death.

"What are you going to be?" I asked, not being a fan of beating around the bush.

James smiled tiredly, "ministry," he said, "probably in one of the security departments, or one of the research ones. You?"

"Oh, I'm going to be a journalist. Or an auror. Just like you." I told him sweetly, "by the way, I'd go with research."

James, taking this in his stride, looked considering, "why?"

I shrugged, "obviously, because you get to play with the grown-up toys before anybody else. You'd have exclusive access to dangerous stuff, which is always fun, and you can just muck around inventing stuff all day and get paid for it. It's perfect!"

"That is a terrible reason!" Lily exclaimed, "how do you always find the least mature things in any situation, and then just zero in on them? Always!"

"It's a gift," I told her, "now, do me. And before you get excited, I just mean 'choose my career, too'."

Lily looked unimpressed, but Annika ruffled my hair, "I can do both, can't I?" she asked.

"That is my favourite answer so far." I told my friends, "who can do better?"

"I don't know," Lily frowned, "that's hard. You know who would know? Lee. Lee would know straight away."

"Well, she's not actually here, so she gets no say," Annika pointed out, "we'll do just fine without her. What should Sirius choose?"

It is a very good question: what should Sirius choose?

I didn't know.

I still don't know. I suppose I never will know what I would have picked in other circumstances.

As it was, while we were sitting there, Lily flicked open the Prophet, and winced, closing it again.

"More?" Annika asked tightly.

"Always more." Lily said, her eyes closed.

And I looked around at them all. James, who'd gone silent and pensive, Lily, who was pale and obviously thinking of her family, Remus, troubled, Peter, afraid. And Annika. Annika, who was biting her lip absently and staring at nothing. She was a blood traitor, I think I have told you, but that wasn't all. She was always empathetic, and she hated the world just then. She avoided it whenever she could.

And all I could think was about how much I loved them all. How, with all my heart and soul, I wanted to see them happy and safe. It was so strong it was like a tug in my gut- I _needed_ them to worry no longer. To feel content.

I wanted to protect them from the cruelty of a world none of us understood.

And with that in mind, I announced, "I think I want to be an auror."

…..

"Do you remember when you wanted to be an auror?"

Madeye asked me that not long ago.

"Not really." I answered.

I am, I will admit, a liar.

"I do. You were a self-confident little nitwit. Minerva got me in to talk to you, and you didn't listen to anything I said. You were a good student, though. Later."

I was, too. I topped a couple of my classes. I was pretty good at that auror stuff, which made me pretty useful in duels, later on. In the order.

But do you know, I never actually ended up finishing that training. The war sort of got in the way.

Actually, on the subject of liars, the whole time, there was a part of me which wished I'd become a writer, and actually _tried_ to write about the whole thing. About Voldemort. About the deatheaters. About the Order. I wanted to write in honour of those who fell for the cause. I wanted to inspire others to join us.

Isn't that odd? An ambition, a dream which came out of nothing. There was nothing to inspire that, after all, and yet, it was what I wanted.

Of course, I didn't get it, but in a way, I'm getting it now.

After all, do you, Estelle, not now know a little more of the Potters? Of Remus? Of the Longbottoms, as they once were?

Of me, even?

Do you know a little more of me? Can you perhaps feel what all of us felt- just children in a world which was changing fast.

We were treading water while the sharks circled below. We did not have veterans who'd lived through it all before. Nobody knew what they were doing.

And we were only _children_.

Like you.

Estelle, I want to ask you something which has indeed been bothering me. But I don't want you to feel that I'm judging you. I would never.

Alright, I might. But I'd have to know you first.

Why aren't you in the DA?

They have students from all over in there, Harry told me. Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs…. Where were you?

Surely Bella doesn't have her hooks in you? Surely you do not agree with those who side with that Umbridge cow, with her superiority and her blind hatred of the strange?

But of course, you don't. Of course, your mother would not have raised you to hold such prejudices. She would have helped you _see_ how similar we all are.

But then, of course, she died when you were so young. Did her values transfer to you? Please tell me they did.

Please assure me that, if you heard about the DA, you would agree with them. I want to hear your name spoken by Harry, with pride. I want to hear him say:

"Estelle's patronus is really coming along." Or "you should see Estelle's stunning charm. Brilliant!".

I want that glow of pride that he has for his friends, but I want it for _you_. I want to know that you are a good, brave person.

I want to know that you took after your mother.

I want to be sure that my side of the family didn't taint you with their prejudices and their hate. I don't want my blood to be responsible for the twisting of the one piece of herself which she left behind. I am sorry, being aware of the expectation of unconditional love, and i do love you. But i want to know that you do your mother proud.

And I can't be sure of this- will I ever be able to? Probably not.

Not without talking to you, and I can't do that. Not right now, anyway. Maybe sometime soon it will all change, and I can be outside again. With you.

In my dreams, I stand with you in the rain.

Outside, just standing there together. Nothing more. Is that strange?

I suppose it is.

But then, I think I am going insane.

Who wouldn't, in this time? In this world?

In this house.


	27. Chapter 27

When James and Lily got married, I insisted on wearing a waistcoat.

I was best man, you see, and the others weren't wearing waistcoats at all.

I was. A waistcoat and a blazer, rather than a suit jacket.

_She_ accused me of being 'purposefully rebellious'.

I accused her of being jealous she hadn't thought of it.

_She_ accused me of being selfish on James and Lily's special day.

I accused her of being jealous that she hadn't thought of it.

Eventually, she agreed. She _was_ jealous.

But she looked beautiful anyway, being the female equivalent to a best man, and standing next to Lily's horse-faced sister, she was the picture of elegance.

When she walked up the aisle behind Lily, you can guess who my eyes were drawn to. Lily was lovely, as any photos will attest to, but _she_ was exquisite. The loveliest thing I had ever seen, and she was wearing a smile which I just knew was meant for me and me alone.

I wonder if she ever gave you that smile? That one, you _must_ know it, where just the corner of her mouth flicks up. A secret smile; a smile of camaraderie. A smile which said _'just look at the us. Just look at this', _and invited you to see the humour, see the beauty in wherever you where, whatever you were doing.

I miss that smile more than anything, I should say.

It always seemed to make things better. No matter how dark things would get, no matter where we were….

I remember sheltering behind the wreck of a car, blood pouring down my arm, my leg almost snapped at the bone, and seeing her, with her hair all matted with blood and dirt, and a bruise blossoming on her face, and seeing that smile and feeling at peace.

I lost that feeling, that content, that warmth, that certainty, when I lost her.

I so wish I could have it back.

I swam across the North Sea from Azkaban with that smile in mind, that smile and a vague hope that I would see her now, that I would be able to see that flick of her mouth, that twitch of her eyebrow as she contemplated the amusing aspect of whatever scenario she was experiencing.

Even if it wasn't meant for me, I wanted to see it.

To see it and explain….

Oh, Estelle. This is what kills me. I never could explain- she will never know how much I loved her, how much I regretted every horrible thing I ever said.

Although that is not true. I would not take back a word I said to her. not a one, because those words are what linked us. Those exchanges were nothing more than chains binding us together.

We hated to care. We hated to be bound so tightly, but we were, and our frustration at our love was destructive.

…..

I do apologise. This was not a coherent beginning to an entry, but you see, I only recently found some photographs, of the wedding.

Harry has some, I'm told, but those are back with his horse-faced aunt and neckless uncle at Privet Drive or somesuch mundane place.

The photos I have aren't from during the ceremony, but much later.

And nobody knows about them.

See, Lily and James pretended to leave, with the usual fan fare, but then, unbeknownst to their family and those guests they _had_ to invite, they returned.

And _she_ and Lily took off their heels and waded in the lovely river next to the church, while Remus, James, Peter and I smoked cigars on the banks, watching the two of them, holding their dresses in their hands, with water droplets scattered on the material like little diamonds.

And then they came out, and _she_ splashed water into my face, putting out my cigar. And so I grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her down next to me, and while the others joined Lily in the water, the two of us lay there, her head tucked under my arm, her hands on my chest.

And suddenly, the squealing of our friends wasn't so loud anymore. Instead, it was just sweet background noise, muted by our preoccupation with each other. We stared into each other's eyes the whole time. Not once did we kiss, or do anything else. We just stared at each other, or the stars, and were together.

It was a lovely moment.

There were so many lovely moments.

And yet, somehow, there are so few photographs. How could that be, mysterious Estelle, when so many were taken, I am _sure_ of it! How could this be?

She always loved photos, so perhaps she kept some?

But she left in such a hurry, with so little thought for anything that I am sure she did not. After all, when she left, I looked through everything she'd left behind, every item of clothing, every book, every record. I looked tenderly at every little incidental object which had been abandoned, memorising it, testing it for memories of her-

And then, in a fit of rage- a temper tantrum of epic proportions- I destroyed it all. Each and every item of clothing, book, record, incidental object. I wanted no more of her. I wanted her gone from my life in memory as much as she was in reality.

But nothing could scour her from my heart. Nothing ever could or ever will.

Not when I lived by myself, in the house we once shared. Not when I threw myself into every battle, every fight. Not when I found the dearest friends I'd ever had- my family, in truth- dead and charred in the still smouldering remains of their home. Not when I was alone in Azkaban did I forget her. Not when I lived as an animal, making my slow and winding way to Hogwarts. Not even now, trapped in a house I have always hated, has she vanished from my mind.

Indeed, Estelle, my impression of her presence grows stronger- the stamp of her on my mind darkening with time. I cannot escape her.

I never could.

Not even as a boy.

…..

"Mmph," Annika murmured into my shoulder, "I could stay here forever."

'Here', mysterious somebody, was my bed, in my apartment, where I had spirited Annika off to for the weekend. School was so close to being finished, and we had needed a break. A break from Lily and James, and Lupin.

And teachers.

It was our final holidays, two weeks before our studies began in earnest, and though we would never admit it, we were terrified of the future.

We had vented this fear in a celebratory 9month anniversary date-weekend. Annika had declared that, seeing as we had been more or less _successfully_ together for a time long enough to have made a baby in, we could perhaps take that final step.

I was ever so relieved.

So- hopefully I do not disgust you with this information- we spent the night together. Just at the moment I opened with, Annika was lying with her hair spread out behind her on the pillow, smiling dreamily up at me. A little ray of sunlight caught the highlights in said hair, and made her eyes glitter.

She looked most beauteous.

"Well, we can't stay here, really." I said, destroying the mood entirely, "I mean, we need showers….."

_And you need to get out of my face for just a little while_

I didn't voice that particular thought, not being suicidal.

"Don't be a killjoy," Annika insisted, "I'm staying here."

"I need a shower," I repeated, sounding a little petulant, as I always do when my desires are being thwarted, "and I want _you_ to come with me."

Annika hissed something about sleep, which suggested that she would not be joining me.

"Fine," I mock-snapped, still smiling "don't come. But at least spell my clothes a little cleaner… they're a mess."

I had forgotten how amazing my shower was. All thick streams of water and spirals of steam.

Amazing. Luxurious.

Difficult to see through.

As I fumbled around for the shampoo, I felt my hands close on a little bottle of something I didn't remember buying. I opened it for a cursory sniff, and peered at the label.

Frangipani and orchid.

It smelled so familiar…. Like something in someone's hair.

"Thanks for the shampoo, Annika," I called, but she didn't answer. Probably still asleep.

I won't bore you with the details of the rest of my shower. No doubt you know how it goes.

I dried off, after that and, after discovering Annika semi-comatose on the bed, in search of clothes. She had failed to prepare mine, and I was far too tired to spell my own without accidentally removing one of my limbs.

Mrs Potter had done a fair portion of the laundry when she was staying with me, and so I found a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt which I hadn't seen in a long time.

I had wondered where they'd gone, it had been so long, but as I stepped onto the landing, I realised that they were crackling.

Absently, I reached a hand into my pocket, and pulled out a little, old and worn piece of paper.

Frowning, I squinted to read it.

It said, rather cryptically:

_Mark_

_Lot 87 Vicars Hill, Lewisham, Greater London_

"I don't know a Mark." I muttered to myself, confused, "how the hell did this get here?"

Annika let out a snore in answer, and it is tribute to my great affection for her that I found that endearing rather than disturbing.

I smiled and shook her shoulder gently, "I'm going for a walk," I told her. Almost honestly.

"Go quietly, then." She muttered into her pillow, "sleeping."

I kissed her head and smoothed a lock of hair behind hear ear.

And then I apparated to Lewisham.

It was a nice enough area, and I found my destination almost instantly.

A little muggle mechanic.

Most unusual.

Feeling a little confused, I walked inside the dingy looking office, ignoring the loud banging noises from the back of the shop.

"You looking for something?"

I spun around, hand on wand, to see a tall, menacing looking man, his arms roped with muscle and folded across his chest.

"Um, I guess." I ventured with a short smile, "I'm after Mark. Is he around?"

Muscles looked sceptical, "you a friend of his?" he asked.

"Not quite sure," I answered honestly, "but I found his name and this address in my pocket. So…."

"How'd it get there?" muscles asked. I shrugged. Like I knew. I was here to find that out, "you don't know?" another shrug, "so what, you were at a gay club or something?"

Mark was gay?

"Nope. I'm straight," I said honestly, "my girlfriend is asleep in my bed as we speak."

"She blonde?" Muscles asked hopefully, "I like them blonde."

What an odd question, don't you think, mysterious somebody? I certainly thought so.

"Brunette." I said, apologetically, though why I am not sure.

"pity." Muscles sounded genuinely disappointed, "I really prefer the blondes. Don't you like blondes?"

"Yes, they're gorgeous, but my Annika is plenty for me." I said, somewhat defensively.

"Good to know," Muscles announced approvingly, I felt oddly relieved as he turned away, "what was your name?"

"Sirius," I answered, "Sirius Black."

"Marcus," Muscles answered, shooting me a look.

It clicked, "so you're Mark?"

He didn't bother answering. It was quite obvious, after all, "I have an order waiting for you," he told me, "if you come out the back."

"I haven't ordered anything." I said quickly, "I've never even been here."

"Doesn't change the fact that you had my name and your own name is on the ledger," Mark said, fairly enough, before turning smartly and heading through a grimy little doorway.

Hand on wand, I followed.

He led me through mazes of metal, like a jungle of scrap, and I had to hurry to keep up with him. When we rounded the last bend, I heard him announce, "here she is,…."

And there in front of me:

Well.

I don't have words, I simply don't.

"What is going on?" I asked, at a loss.

Marcus grinned, and he looked completely different, "it's a Triumph Tiger 80," he said, resting a proud hand on the handlebar, "350cc. A model from '38. She's an oldie, but a goodie, and I've fixed her up real nice."

In case you don't speak this language, I shall translate.

It was a motorbike.

_The_ motorbike. The most beautiful thing I had ever seen. All silver and black, with huge thin wheels and gleaming exhaust pipes. It was strong and delicate and graceful and fierce all at once.

A tiger, indeed. I was in love.

"Mine?" I asked weakly, Mark nodded, "how?"

"You really don't know?" he laughed, and again (after wrenching my gaze away from the bike) I noticed how different he looked. Wasn't his hair darker before? Were his eyes always that colour?

"What is going on?" I asked, suddenly suspicious.

What happened next you wouldn't understand unless you've met your Auntie Tonks, or somebody like her.

Marcus shook his head, and with it, his features began to change. His arms dropped their insane muscles, he shrank just a little, his hair lightened to a honey blonde, and his face changed.

When he looked up, he was a good looking blonde, with a nose that was just crooked enough to give him character.

I had seen him before.

"You know," he said conversationally, as I drew my wand, "I didn't think you were going to come. I thought maybe I could keep the bike."

"Who the fuck are you?" I swore angrily, "and how do I know you?"

He looked affronted, "I'm Ellie's friend," he told me. I remained in the dark, and my expression must have communicated this, because he elaborated, stating, "you know, from the club?"

I did not know.

"Ellie?" I asked, and he rolled his eyes.

"You bloody know her," he said, "great girl. Real attractive blonde. Killer legs, sexy laugh." He waggled his eyebrows, "hell of a French-kisser."

Blonde called Ellie with nice legs, a good laugh, and a mean French kiss?

It clicked after a minute, "you mean Aureilee?" I asked, haltingly.

Mark nodded, "I always called her Ellie".

And then I saw him.

_Mark nodded at me and reached into his pocket, "yeah, nice. Uh, here." He held out a little slip of paper and I looked to Lee, confused._

_She rolled her eyes, "you take it in your hand, and you put it safely in your pocket," she enunciated slowly. Mark grinned. Glowering, I took the paper._

_"What is it?" I asked, suspicious._

_Lee shrugged, "something you want," she said blandly, at the same time as Mark shrugged and said, "my number."_

_I jolted, and made to give the paper back, but Lee closed my fist around it._

_"Bad Sirius!" she said sternly, "say thank you!"_

"Oh my god." I said slowly, "you gave me a bike because we screwed the same girl?"

"Are you an idiot?" Mark asked, looking annoyed, "Lee arranged the bike. I owed her a favour, and this was the one she chose."

"Why'd you owe her a favour?" I asked, skipping over the main point.

He could tell what I was getting at, and he looked angry, "we liked each other, she wasn't a whore," he snapped, "she put me up when I was in Prague. We were both running from our families and we met up there. I'm a Grimaud," he added, by way of explanation.

Absently, I skimmed my fingers over the seat of the thing. It was cool to the touch.

"So you offered her a motorbike?" I asked vaguely, "and she said I could have it?"

"I offered her a _favour_." Mark said, defensive again. He scowled a little, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "I actually wanted her to ask for me to help her disappear. I thought she could live with me here, I could do any magic she needed, now that my trace is gone. But she refused."

I was shocked, "she chose a motorbike over her freedom?"

He shrugged, "she said it wouldn't be freedom. Her father would never stop looking for her." again, the scowl, "and she said perhaps it was best she left. She said that we were best friends, but she wasn't 'in love' with me."

Perhaps he could feel my smirk, mysterious somebody, because his eyes narrowed and he said, with an air of nonchalance (feigned), "and then we had the best sex of my life."

That was me told.

Mark smiled in triumph and patted the bike, "she knew I'd found an old triumph, and she said that it looked perfect for somebody she knew. She said that you needed to be able to escape when it suited you; that you craved freedom more than anyone." He smiled wryly, "and that you 'liked bikes'."

All of that was true. I was touched by the gesture.

But numb.

"Frangipani and orchid," I whispered suddenly, and Mark raised an eyebrow.

"Come again?" he asked, bemused.

"It wasn't Annika's shampoo," I muttered, and in my mind I could see golden curls swirling around, hear a tinkling laugh, the smell of flowers in the air, "how could I forget that?"

"No idea," Mark answered, apparently unconcerned, "now, Ellie said that you'd want to make your own little touches to the bike, like inventive shit, make it breathe fire or whatever…..?"

Spot on. I was already thinking about it. But fire? Probably not. _Flying_ on the other hand… I could already feel the wind through my hair.

"So I can see she got that part right," Mark sounded bemused again, "do you know how to drive it?"

I did, actually. Or, sort of, anyway.

"I can't actually believe this." I said quietly, "Lee found me a bike….. did she leave me a note?"

Mark shook his head, "since when was that her style?"

A fair point, but I felt bereft. This should feel like good wishes from Lee, like an expression of affection, but without Lee by my side, leaning on my shoulder, smiling, it felt empty.

"Not the same as having her here, is it?" mark observed sympathetically, "you miss her, too?"

I nodded. _Obviously_. I just hadn't realized it before.

Mark let out an exasperated laugh, "what does she do to us men?" he asked tiredly, "just one smile, one screw, and we're hooked forever."

I could feel myself smile bitterly, "just a smile for me." I could feel his gaze; questioning, "I was never special enough for a screw."

What Mark said next stayed with me as I wheeled the bike outside, as I wove through the London traffic to return home.

"Maybe you were _too_ special."

...

Perhaps, if your mother ever did tell you of me, she told you of that bike.

Or perhaps, your aunt Sissy might've.

It became a larger part of my life, or my identity, than i intended. I loved it as a sibling. I almost loved it as much as James, or so he frequently claimed.

I am sure he was jealous of it. It was, after all, incredibly cool.

And i will not deny that, on that bike, i cut a rather dashing figure.

It became almost an extension of me, unintentionally, again. And just as i was careful to take pains to preserve my own appearance, even in the midst of what could be called civil war, i worked ceaselessly on that bike. Oh, it was polished and repainted regularly. The seats were recovered on monthly intervals. Even the intense fighting which I was engaged in for most of the time for which i owned the bike could not diminish its beauty. I would not let it. It was sleek and menacing for as long as i owned it.

And it was fearsome. Sirius Black, on his motorbike. One was rarely seen without the other.

I wish you could have seen me like that! Or at least, some photos. You would have been proud of me, looking so dashing, so capable, so free.

Your friends would have giggled, putting hands over their mouth and waggling their eyebrows at each other, smiling at how handsome your father used to be. And you would have rolled your eyes, and plucked the photos from their fingers and said something disdainful to put them in their place. You would have been embarrassed, but a little proud.

Of course, you will never have such innocent, girlish memories. So commonplace to most witches your age. Even most muggles.

Such regret i have, even that you missed out on the smaller things which having a father allowed a person to experience.

Little family outings, those awkward conversations about growing up. The opportunity to flounce up the stairs after i pronounced 'you are not leaving the house wearing that! That is a shirt, not a dress!'. The embarrassment as i interview your potential boyfriends...

I doubt you shall have any of that.

And i can't imagine walking you up the aisle, either. Or bouncing your children on my knee...

oh, a grandfather! How can i even imagine that? In my mind, i am still only 20. In my mind, i do not think i have even thought properly about you yet. You are a distant figure, one i will admit, i never imagine dealing with.

What are we coming to?

Harry is James' son, and he is almost a man. Have i never realised this before?

Estelle, i do not believe i have.

He is outside now, and his footfalls are the same as James'. They have the same, striding gait. That same confidence in their walk, only Harry's is tempered by Lily's unprepossessing kindness. He is so wonderful- they would be so happy to see him.

Estelle, i wonder now what James and LILy would have looked like now?

Would James' hairline receded? Would wrinkles be springing up around Lily's beautiful eyes?

Time is such a funny thing. I did not live in Azkaban- i did not watch myself grow haggard, and because i could not see aging, i assumed the world would be the same when i emerged as it had been when i left it.

But Albus has no auburn left in his hair, now, and Minerva is an old woman.

Pretty Molly's curves have turned to plumpness- her waist is gone. Childbearing has stolen away her figure. And Arthur stoops, now.

Remus' hair is dusted through with grey, and Kingsley has no hair at all!

And I?

I will not describe myself to you, Estelle. I find i cannot.

Remember me as a dashing young lout, leaning on a motorbike, staring out with disdain at a world which is his for the taking.

Remember me as i was, for how could you love the man i have become?


	28. Chapter 28

**just taking a quick moment to thank people for the reviews i've gotten. it's really encouraging to hear from you all- keep it up!**

**hope you enjoy- we're getting close to the end now.**

...

In the weeks after I received the motorbike, Lee was a constant presence in my mind.

I am sure that, as I have described the days post Lee's departure, that you, mysterious Estelle, know that this had not been the case before I collected her gift.

Perhaps all the trauma which James had suffered through had distracted me for the past few months, or perhaps, my general adaptness at burying unwanted emotions had once again saved me from regret.

I do not know.

All I can truthfully say is that once I was again reminded of Lee, she never left me. She enveloped me. I did not know how I had survived so long without thoughts of her. It seemed I was doomed to be reminded of her with every action I performed.

Considering how long and hard I worked on that bike, enjoying the way I could experiment with magic in order to add little features to it, this was severe.

Annika thought I was being an idiot, but James (oblivious to my inner turmoil) thought tinkering with the bike seemed an interesting task, and would speak to me often via the mirrors, commenting and making suggestions.

All in all, I must confess that the romantic weekend did not go quite as Annika had planned. She had expected- as had I- that we would spend all our time together, enjoying the peace. It was not to be.

I found myself surrounded by Lee- she was everywhere in the apartment, it was uncanny. Only hours before, it had been _my_ apartment, and yet, just one visit to one little mechanic had completely altered my perceptions. All the emotions I had suppressed bubbled to the surface in a rush of- well, Lee.

Suddenly, I didn't see a kitchen sink. I saw Lee grinning at me as she packed a picnic basket. I didn't see a couch- I saw Lee's long legs made longer by knife-like heels, and her eyes all rimmed in sparkles and black, and her hair all messy. I didn't see a bed- I saw myself, lying with Lee in my arms and blood on my mouth.

The shower reminded me of that morning after the club. The stove reminded me of the pancakes I was making for her. The table reminded me of the photos which used to line it. My room was probably the worst.

It reminded me of the fact that it had once been Yves'.

Also, Estelle, I wondered what she was thinking. I had not contacted her, or thanked her for her gesture- unforgivably rude.

Would she care? Would she have noticed? She was always so very independent, and she never really needed people to notice her actions, or that was the impression she gave. In my mind, I truly felt that she would be unconcerned at my lack of gratitude. Logically, I knew that she would have made the gesture and considered that the end of the episode. She didn't factor 'thanks' into her plans. Ever. Why would this be an exception?

Only, I _needed_ it to be, I realised. I needed her to need to hear from me. I wanted to see her satisfaction with _my_ satisfaction.

I played the conversation out in my mind:

In my mind, I somehow was at her home, in France.

In my mind, she was wearing dress robes, slashed across mid thigh, so little was really left to the imagination, and with a neckline which bordered on indecent. Her hair was cut to her shoulders in a riotous mess of curls, and she had rimmed her eyes with some much black eyeliner that she looked vaguely like a panda. Her nails, in my mind, are black and sparkly. She is carving the words 'PUREBLOODS SUCK' onto the walls of her ancestral home.

"what are _you_ doing here?" she would whisper, shocked and angry, "you fool! How did you get in here? Mon dieu, boys are idiots!"

"I came to see you!" I would then announce, "I know that I'm being stupid, and I know that I shouldn't be here, but I needed to see you!"

"And did you think maybe I didn't want to see you? Did you consider that? Or is your ego so huge that you actually _imagined_ that I would be pleased to see your smug face on my doorstep?"

(Notice here that, even in my fantasies, Lee was a complete bitch)

But what I said to that, in my mind?

Nothing.

My imagination simply could not handle the stretch- what Lee would be like, were I to see her again, what I would _say_, after the way we left things, was beyond me.

And I was desperate for it to be another way. I wanted so badly to speak to her again, even as a memory, even as a daydream, and yet I could not.

She was gone, and no amount of pretending she was still around would change that. And so, on the second day after our return to school for our final term, I made a drastic decision.

It was reckless. It was foolhardy.

It was utterly and entirely my style.

….

"Woah." I stood up, brushing the dust off of my knees and coughing up soot mixed with mucus. Apparently, overseas floo trips are slightly more taxing to the system.

Allow me to explain-

Enlisting the help of James, ever eager to impress Lily and truthfully quite fond of Lee, I had obtained the address of Lee's charming father, and- employing this, and several other less than reputable tactics- had managed to set things up so that I could floo-network myself over to France during (herein lies the risk) a free period.

Idiotic. Foolish.

Entirely Sirius.

Of course, nobody other than James could know. We'd used the same lounge which Lee herself had employed to get us to that nightclub on her last day, and I had pulled a few well-placed strings to ensure that the journey would be possible.

I am sure you are aware that the ministry strictly controls overseas floo trips, and France's Ministry was so adamantly furious with ours (some little hiccup involving foreign dignitaries and their inadvertently promiscuous daughters- my sort of scandal, almost enough to interest me in politics) that trips were nigh impossible, and took weeks to work out.

Lo and behold, though, Estelle, your father came through and managed to wrangle permission for a temporary pass- very much eligible for categorisation as 'people smuggling' between the nations.

I will not name names, Estelle. All you need know was that he owed me quite a favour, and (though he was blissfully unaware of it) so did his very pretty younger sister.

And so, I was there- in France. In Estelle's house.

In, well, the smallest room I'd ever seen.

It was next to empty, and a layer of dust a couple of inches thick coated everything. I could tell from the view that it was an attic room, and from the state of the place that either cleaners were not employed at Lee's house, or that it wasn't currently in use.

But somebody _had_ been here, I could see that. There was some weird wooden structure in the corner nearest the window, and the bed hadn't been made. The wardrobe door was open to reveal one or two lonely sweaters dangling forlornly off of metal coat hangers, but there was nothing personal in sight. No photos, no books; nothing.

I knew I was in the wrong room, what I didn't know is whether or not I'd be able to get out of there.

The door was small, and set back into the far wall of the room. I didn't bother checking it. The handle was broken off, and it seemed to lock from the outside, which, as well as being incredibly odd, was also not at all conducive to an escape route.

It was possible that I would be able to spell it open, but then again, in the house of Etienne Dahlquist, using magic was not a good idea. Most likely everything was booby trapped, I wasn't even sure if my arrival had been monitored.

My only option, bar returning to Hogwarts, and the wrath of Annika, was to try the window. It was old, and dusty, with a film of dirt so thick across it that you could barely make out the daylight outside. But it would probably open, my instincts told me. That weird wooden thing was in the way, though.

With a lack of respect I don't expect you to admire, I thrust the thing out of my way, only to feel it collapse in my hands.

I had been worried that it was some sort of booby trap, some odd French strategy for catching intruders red-handed. But short of giving me a few splinters, it didn't hurt me.

It seemed, in fact, to be a muggle object.

As it folded, its various wooden legs snapping together into one long, compact stick, different things that had been resting on it cluttered to the floor, making far too much noise for my liking.

Cursing like a sailor, I laid the thing down and bent to pick up the pieces.

The first thing I reached for was a roll of coarse material, which unfurled as I picked it up. Rather than just spare cloth, it seemed to be an almost pouch type thing, designed for holding…. Paintbrushes?

"Or course," I murmured, looking back at the wooden thing, what they call an easel? "Raoulf".

And just like that I became more aware of the space I was in.

In that closet had hung the clothes of the person whom Lee loved most in the world. He'd slept in that bed, he'd looked out that window.

He'd _painted_ here.

I scanned the room more carefully. It might seem empty, but Raoulf was, to all intents and purposes, just another pure blood boy hiding things from his parents. I knew very well how to sniff out his secrets.

I tried the closet first, but other than a roll of canvas shoved against the far corner, it was bare. I tried the bed. Under the pillow? Nothing. So, abandoning all semblance of dignity, I sunk to my hands and knees and ran my hands along the bed slats.

There.

A small, low box, shoved between the mattress and the bed slats. I prised it out, shameless in my curiosity.

Did I think about Raoulf's rights to his secrets? No. Did I consider respecting the dead? No. Did I even think of Lee, and how much this might mean to her? No.

I just opened that box, wanting nothing more than to assuage my own curiosity.

There wasn't much inside.

A few photos and some loose sheets of paper. Rough sketches, really.

Shoving them aside, I looked to the pictures.

The first felt like looking back in time. In it, a young couple stood, smiling at the camera, obviously very much in love.

He was dark haired and handsome, thick black hair and a lazy smile, one arm wrapped around her, the other in his pocket.

He looked charming, but there was something almost predatory in his smile, something a little off putting.

She was quite lovely. My kind of woman, in every way. Long, honey coloured hair, falling in loose waves around her face, a sunny smile and legs that were to die for.

I recongised them more by context than actual appearance.

Etienne Dahlquist had retained that head of hair, apparently; it had been just as thick last time I'd seen him, but that was the full sum of the similarities between him and his younger self.

His eyes, when I had seen them, were cold and hard as ice. There was little love in them.

Theses eyes were different. They looked out at the world with pride and defiance, and, it must be said, with eagerness. He would have seemed a complete lout, a complete young prick were it not for the tenderness with which he held on to the girl next to him.

But what was strangest, Estelle, about this photo, was how much it echoed a myriad of moments throughout my relationship (surely there's another word) with Lee.

That was us, with the arrogance and the pride and the knowledge of our own worth. 'Challenge us' their smiles said 'we dare you. We'll tackle anything you throw at us- the world is ours and we rule it together'.

"Would you look at that," I muttered, staring, to all intents and purposes, into the face of my mirror image, "hello, Mrs Dahlquist."

She was, I'll have you know, as lovely as her daughter, and with the same fire in her eyes. I was so struck by the similarities to Lee that I smiled to myself as I looked at the photo- she was so beautiful, so defiant.

Nothing could beat this woman, with her smirk, and her raised chin. She had one eyebrow cocked as if to ask, 'can I help you with something?', as if to say, 'I know I am beautiful- stare all you like, you cannot have me'.

She was indomitable, I could tell. And she belonged in full to the man by her side.

This man, so like me, and so in love with her.

It was an odd feeling, staring at that photo- I felt vulnerable, almost (disgusting emotion, that one), and as I wrestled with this awful feeling of openness, and emotion, the moment became even more awkward.

When my pants caught on fire.

"Holy _shit_!" I screamed, jumping to my feet and batting at the flames with my bare hands (bad idea), "dear lord, are you _crazy_?"

"Asks the intruder?" a voice drawled tiredly, "asks the Englishman rifling through a box of photos in _somebody else's _attic."

And suddenly, I stopped batting, and let the flames die out. I felt a sense of purpose dawn in me, and a strange, encompassing calm envelop me.

Despite myself, I was already smiling, and I released a breath I hadn't known I was holding as I turned to face her, "hey there, _cheton_," my grin was manic.

My enthusiasm went sadly unreturned.

"What on earth are you doing," she whispered, and I could feel my face fall, "you can't be here. How did you even get inside?"

"Lee," I ventured, unsure, "it's me…. I don't understand…."

"I know it is _you_." Lee snapped, "I am no halfwit. What I don't know is why you are in my father's house?"

"Well, obviously I came to see you.." I snapped back at her. Obviously I needed to talk to you."

"Obviously?" she breathed, eyes flicking away, "there is nothing _obvious_ about this. Not to me."

"I-" my voice died as I looked at the expression on her face. She looked on edge, wary, scared?

What she didn't look like was Lee. There was none of that dismissive confidence, that wry charm and subtle vivacity in her expression. I'd been just so happy to see her- just her- when she'd arrived that I hadn't bothered to look more closely, to see the things that had changed since last we'd met. And the more I looked at her, the more I saw the differences in place of the similarities.

Her clothes, I should start with. Robes. Robes as casual wear- she never wore robes. But here they were, and not tight around the waist and short, but brushing the floor and elegant in cut- flattering, yes, as was anything Lee wore, but modest and conservative.

Her posture. No languid grace here. She was ramrod straight, head tilted upward, hands held stiffly by her sides, feet together.

Her hair. Pulled back into a sleek braid, about half an inch shorter than when she'd left, the curls brushed smoothly back off of her face so that not a single strand escaped the braid. I don't think I had even seen so much of her face. She was exposed.

And while she looked as beautiful as you'd assume, there was something timid about her, something unsure. She wasn't used to being so fully accessible, you could tell.

"You look different." I told her frankly, "you don't look like you."

She raised her chin slightly, "and so who do I look like?" she asked, and there was a hint of her old defiance in it, but it was faint.

"Like…" I considered, "like Sissy."

Her eyes flashed a little, "you talk a lot of nonsense, Black."

"Just because you don't want to hear it, doesn't make it nonsense," I snapped at her, "god, what have they done to you- Lee, they've changed you…"

Her nostrils flared and her hands tightened on each other so much that I could see little crescents of blood left by her nails when she released them.

"Who are you to come in here and _presume_ to tell me that they have changed me?" she asked, voice low and dangerous, "who are you to presume that they have changed me?" she asked, voice low and dangerous, "who are you to presume anyone can change me at all?"

"Your friend-" I began, but her expression cut me off.

"Not that, Black," she said darkly, "never that again."

I scowled, feeling nervous, "don't be stupid."

"I'm not. I'm being smart. Smarter than I have ever been with you," she told me calmly, "I always thought you _cared_- always thought you'd change in the end, and it would all be alright. But I was wrong, and I will never lie to myself about you again."

"Then why did you give me the motorbike?" I asked, beyond annoyed, "obviously you _wanted _me to come here."

She raised an eyebrow, and I noticed that her eye makeup was nonexistent. She looked younger. Less herself, or more herself, I wasn't sure.

"I gave you the motorbike," she said, "as a goodbye present. As a 'thankyou' present. A gesture- I don't _know_! It just _felt_ right." Her composed façade was shattered. I was pleased.

"Like the wall," I said, "like when I painted the wall for you. That felt right. That was a thankyou, a gesture…."

"A goodbye?" Lee's mouth twisted into a snarl, "an apology? A way to assuage your guilt?"

"Maybe," I said, trying not to be angry with her, "but more than that- I was trying to show you how I feel. I was trying to express the way I feel about you- about your personality, how clever you are….."

"How you feel about _me_?" Lee's eyes were huge, she looked like a ghoul, almost, or some sort of ghost. Oh, Estelle, I can see her now, how pale she was, how drawn and tired. How wretched and furious, "you don't even know how you feel about me! You have no idea!"

"Sure I do," I answered, confused by this odd turn of conversation.

From the look in Lee's eyes, I knew that I'd made a mistake saying that, "trés bien," she smiled cruelly, finally looking more like the Lee I knew, "enlighten me, prove me wrong! How do you feel about me?"

I had no idea at all.

What to say? What to say? With her staring up at me with those eyes, so imperious and condescending. Daring me to be wrong, but somehow, deep down, hoping I was right- that I had an answer to her question.

I didn't.

"I miss you." I said finally. Honestly. Confidently. Inadequately, "I wish you still lived in England."

She snorted, "oh, how romantic! You came to my house to tell me that you're a little put out that we can't meet for morning tea anymore?"

No matter that I'd broken into her house, that I'd cut school and travelled across an ocean (sort of) to see her, Lee wasn't happy. How could she be when I'd _gotten the wording wrong?_

"You are such an insane bitch," I snapped, forgetting my promise to keep my temper, "you leave me this bike, and then you act surprised when I come to say thankyou."

"Yes well, for most people, a note would've sufficed." Lee drawled.

"Since when have you been like most people?" I asked, reasonably, I might add.

"Since when have you cared?" she snapped back at me, "now if you'll excuse me, I have a place to be."

I scoffed, "yeah, naturally. As soon as I rock up, you have a place to be. Just freaking brilliant, Lee. That wasn't an excuse at all."

"Oh, I don't plan my life around you!" Lee hissed, "I am _busy_ today- so leave!"

I was just furious by now, just plain enraged. What, was this just not enough for Lee? I turn up, cross country, in her house- _despite_ the fact that her father would kill me on sight- and it isn't enough? She doesn't consider this quite sufficient?

"what is your problem, Lee?" I demanded, "here I am- for you, I'm here, and you treat me like dirt, like a problem!"

"You're not here for me," Lee said, shaking her head with an evil gleam in her eye, "there is an ulterior motive here, there is _always_ an ulterior motive with you- you have never ever done anything for me and me alone."

"That is a _lie_!" I snarled, "that is a downright, stupid lie!"

"Name something, then," Lee snapped, "name something you've done for me, for my good."

I thought. It didn't take me long to figure one out, "I- saved you from that wolf." I said, mentioning something that had long lain dormant between us, so long that I still could not refer to the truth of the incident, "I did that for you."

"Please, you did that for Remus," Lee scoffed, which I thought was quite massively untrue, "you were so worried about him the next day, but you didn't even check if I was alright. That was for Remus, and for you."

Well- alright, maybe it was mostly for Remus, but I hadn't wanted her to die, either, had I? But no matter, I could think of something else.

"I helped you get out of working with Slughorn, that time in the holidays, when we were stuck at school together," I said, simply as a filler, "I told him you were helping me with my essay."

She frowned, "_I_ told him that. You just didn't contradict me."

"The wall- I painted the wall," I said. Surely that was plenty. Surely that said _everything_.

She raised an eyebrow, and though she looked so scornful, I felt an embarrassing pang in my heart at the sight of her looking so much like she used to. There she was- there was my Lee- standing ramrod straight or whatever, that face was hers and hers alone, "we just established, Black," she smiled tautly, "that the wall was a way for you to alleviate your guilt. After you left me to face my _father_ alone- when you knew how scared I was, when you knew my mother had only just died."

Despite my argumentative streak (perhaps, rather than being a Sirius with an argumentative streak, it would be more accurate to term me an argumentative with a Sirius streak. I am sure you could relate), Remus seems to have rubbed off on me more than I had known, and I held my tongue. Swiftly enough, I changed the subject.

I remembered, in a stroke of genius, a night by the lake. Skinny dipping- icy water… Macgonnagal in a dressing gown. And a slender form, floating in the dark water- alone.

"I saved you," I said, "I jumped in that water for you, that night by the lake." She looked unnerved, "everybody said you were fine. Everybody thought I was being an idiot- but you weren't fine and I knew it."

She smiled contemptuously, but she couldn't hold it, "Black, don't you try to make out that.."

"Oh, I knew they'd get you out without my help," I said, anticipating her statement, "I knew that. But I jumped in anyway, because I knew you wouldn't ever have wanted to walk out of that lake alone. I knew you needed somebody by your side. I _knew_ it, Lee." I took a deep breath, remembering, "and even though people laughed at me for it, and even though I'd known they would, and even though it was _freezing_, I jumped in that lake. And I held your hand under the water, so nobody would know you felt scared and alone, and all they'd see was your defiance. And while I did that, I pretended not to see your sadness. Also for you."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Lee was looking out the window, and her eyes looked slightly wet, though she wasn't crying. But even as I watched, her mouth hardened.

"I never needed you to save me," she said tightly, "I never asked you to save me."

I smiled, "of course you didn't need me to save you," I said, "all you needed, all you ever need, is the reminder that somebody _cares_ that you come back to them, and that there's somebody there who will wait for you while all the world moves on." Truer words have never been spoken.

She said nothing.

"And you don't need to ask, Lee," I told her quietly, "because, whether you know it or not, I care enough about you to be there, even when you're too proud to ask."

"But you weren't there," Lee snapped, and I knew that she was crying now, "you weren't there, not when I needed you most."

"And I regretted that so much." I told her honestly, "and I know enough now to be able to say that it will never, never happen again. I'll always be there for you, Lee, to remind you to come home."

I'd been standing less than a metre away from her for about half an hour, and though it'd been months since last we'd spoken, we had yet to touch. I knew it was best that we didn't. She didn't want to seem weak, and, Estelle she wasn't weak. She never ever was.

So I let myself look at her for a moment, and then, still clutching that photo of her parents, I stepped into the fireplace and whispered an address.

That night at the lake, she'd wanted to walk out without me, she'd told me she didn't want it to look like I'd carried her out.

I knew that now was no different. She would come back on her own, when she was ready for it.

She would come back.

….

Back at school, James was frantic.

Frantically asleep, that is.

"You suck at keeping watch," I told him, kicking him awake. He jumped a little, sleepily kicking around and wiping what looked like a tony trail of drool off of his mouth. Lovely.

He blinked blearily, "yeah, well your pants are all singed and disgusting. I can see your boxers."

Oh. So they were. I had forgotten about that.

Gradually, realisation dawned on him and he sat upright, "oh, how's Lee? Did she send us a message? Did she mention Lily? Remus? Peter? Me? Annika? Does Annika even know? Does she know you got the motorbike? What did she say? Is she giving them hell for us?"

"Bloody hell, mate, shut _up_," I snapped, massaging my temples. Overseas floo trips sucked, "Lee. Right, she, uh….." in my mind, I saw her frightened face, her strange disease, her fragility, "Lee is- Lee. Of course. She sends her love to everybody, and she set my pants on fire for breaking in to her house."

James grinned, "naturally. That's so very like Lee."

I smiled tiredly, "yeah, it is, isn't it?"

"So, she said hello?"

"Yeah, to everybody. She said she misses us all, but she won't be long in coming home." I closed my eyes, "she's really giving them hell for us. In fine form, she is. All black eye makeup and crazy hair. And I tell you, the length of that skirt…. She was challenging the laws of decency," I waggled my eyebrows at James, and he laughed.

"Sounds about right," he said, " I love it when Lee challenges the laws of decency- god, she's got great legs….so, is she coming back soon, then?"

I smiled, genuinely this time, and with hope and determination, "oh, yeah," I said quietly, "she'll be back here before you know it."

….

How sad this memory has made me feel, Estelle.

How sad and how lost.

The photo, you see. I still have it. Perhaps I should enclose it in here, so that you could keep it and see for yourself. The young man. The young woman.

I admired them both so greatly. I was so taken by their beauty and their arrogance and their charm that I did not consider the message that Raoulf was surely giving me from the grave.

After all, no matter how sweet they were as children, the Dahlquists did not live happy lives.

Etienne, with his good looks and his charm and his wit, became cold and manipulative. He died alone in a great empty house, having severed all links to his family with his bitterness and selfishness.

His mistakes cost him his entire life, and in essence, his freedom.

And Lee's lovely mother?

Need we discuss? Her strength was all a show, in the end. She was dead by her own hand before she was 40.

How ironic, that at 17 I thought myself and Lee to be a mirror of them.

How ironic, and how very, very fitting.

If only I had paid more attention to my own insight. If only I had remembered the fates of the Dahlquists when my own choices came along.


	29. Chapter 29

**alright, so this is a little bit of a controversial entry- fair warning.**

**if you're angry at me- i promise to write a little explanation for this down the bottom.**

**...**

I know honesty is the best policy, or so they say, but have you ever considered that sometimes, a lie is best for all involved? Or not even a lie, so much as a small tweaking of the truth, because of reasons too terrible to contemplate.

Say, maybe, being ashamed of something.

Have you ever been ashamed of something, mysterious somebody? So ashamed that you would lie to your nearest and dearest, just to keep your own dignity intact? And their peace of mind, as well? We mustn't forget that.

I have felt that, mysterious somebody.

I have lied to you.

I did not want you to think ill of me, and how could you not, if you heard this particular memory, one I myself wish was forgotten. I tell myself that you need to know this, I know that that is what _she_ would say. After all, it is our failures, not our triumphs, that shape our personalities. How could you know me, then, without the biggest failure of them all? How could you understand all the nuances that make me me?

This is, indeed, the thing I regret more than any other, and, saddest of all, I cannot excuse my actions. I cannot explain away the wrong I did, I cannot undo it and I cannot rationalise it.

It was simply wrong. And I cannot change that.

On some level, I want you to _know_ that. I want you to be ashamed of me, I certainly am. This was no adolescent selfishness; this was all the negative aspects of my own personality, or my self, all come to the surface.

This is my worst. This is what I might have been.

I remember hearing a quote from one of the more famous muggle writers (you know of Shakespeare?), in which a woman who committed murder sleep walks, trying to wash the blood off of her hand. She cried _"out, damn spot!"_ but she cannot wash it off. I can empathise with her- this guilt has stayed with me a long time.

I will not cheapen this by attempting to excuse myself before you know the truth. Perhaps, if you continue to read, even after knowing this, the Blackest part of me- of my life- I shall beg your understanding, if not your forgiveness.

So here, and try not to think badly of me. So many people do, I couldn't bear it if you joined their ranks.

I told you, I believe, as I once told Harry, that I never saw Bellatrix again, after that day in my room. Truly, I wish that were the case. So many things might have been different, had that been the end of it.

I saw her again, you see. Just once. It was not so long before You know Who's demise. James and Lily were about to go into hiding, so it was mere days before the fateful conversation which named Peter secret keeper, and ultimately killed them.

I was alone, in our dingy looking little apartment, staring at the wall, waiting for god knows what, and drinking what I think may have been a firewhiskey-vodka cocktail, which tasted like hell. I wanted to talk to James about something, something small and insignificant, I'm not sure what, but I remember that feeling of wanting to, _needing_ to.

_She_ was out. I don't remember where, but, considering how calm I was, it was safe. I was, in fact, thinking over our latest argument. It had taken place not an hour before.

As I stared at the wall, bits and pieces of it flickered through my mind.

"_Are you crazy? You want me to be excited?"_

"_It would be nice, yes."_

"_well then, hey, hey! How great is it to have another worry on top of all the others! Another person whose life to fear for. Maybe later we can sneak out through enemy territory and buy a special crib! Or a playpen! Wow, it's so convenient, because we can use it like a shield when all the death eaters following us around start throwing curses our way."_

"_Grow up, Sirius! You think I planned this? Why the hell would I? But it's happened now, and I'm not about to change that."_

"_Course not. And that right there is something to be afraid of. Another you wandering around the place. Another little hard-to-please snob."_

"_Don't forget your contribution of arrogant son of a bitch,"_

"_See now, I thought that was coming from your side as well."_

"_Good point. I suppose that you're not interested in leaving any mark on the child. That's convenient, because I was planning on being the sole parent. You have no business in any child's life anyway."_

"_Why, isn't it mine, then?_

"_You think you're amusing me? You're not. This isn't a time for jokes."_

"_what, you think I don't know that? For God's sake, we're in the middle of a war, and you want to have a baby. God, you can be stupid sometimes. What are we going to do with it while we fight? What about when we're attacked? How are we supposed to raise it?"_

"_James and Lily ha….."_

"_James and Lily? Sweetheart, the difference being that they wanted a child, but I sure as hell don't want this one, you hear me?"_

"_Oh, I hear you, Sirius. I hear a scared little man who doesn't want to grow up. I hear an idiot clinging to his high school years. I am having this child. If you don't want it, then you don't want me."_

"_Fine! You want to give me an ultimatum, here's one for you: if you don't come back, without that kid inside you, don't come back at all!"_

A knock pulled me from my reverie. It wasn't _her_, she wouldn't have bothered knocking, no matter how angry she was. I wasn't sure whether I would let her in if she did, either. I didn't want to see her. It wouldn't be James, or Lily, or Remus. They, too, would have simply entered. None of the other members of the order would come to my house, which ruled them out….

Or did it? What if something had happened? What if something had happened to _her_? I was torn between caring about her safety, and hoping she'd lost that bloody child inside of her- an emotion, Estelle, that I am not proud of.

Either way I needed to know.

I stumbled out of my chair, amazed by how much I had actually drunk, and moved inelegantly down the hallway, wrenching open the door.

When my eyes had focussed enough to recognize my visitor, I reached for my wand, but, as quick as my reflexes normally were, it did me no good, because my wand was on the table.

"Sirius! I'm not here on business."

I frowned, "yeah? I really believe that. Accio wand!"

Bella pushed her hood down, lifted her own wand and with a flick of her wrist sent mine scurrying back from whence it came.

"Can I come in? please? I have news."

I don't know why I agreed. Maybe it was the drink. Maybe it was that I needed somebody to talk to. Maybe it was that I hadn't seen her in years, and hadn't expected to again.

Thinking about it, a big part was the drink.

Bella strode down my corridor, through to the lounge. I followed, more ambling than striding. When I got there, she was examining photos on the walls.

"She, uh, she likes photos," I announced lamely.

Bella looked at me. She was as beautiful as ever, but slightly more terrifying somehow. I had never met her in battle, but people said she was beyond fearless. I believed that. Her hair was longer now, and not as glossy. It was shiny and wavy, but somehow seemed coarser. Her cheekbones stood out, as usual, and her eyes had bags beneath them. She looked vaguely like a vampire.

As I watched, she smiled sarcastically, picking up another photo, "she seems to like art," she observed, and her smile twisted into a sneer, "how appropriately _blood traitor_ of her. Could she try any harder to appear a rebel?"

Confused, I looked over her shoulder, "she hardly needs to try."

I felt Bella's sharp intake of breath as I came to stand behind her, and, frowning, moved back, "sorry," I told her, before realising the ridiculousness of the situation. Here was a woman who'd killed many of my friends, and she was standing in my lounge, looking at family photos.

"wait, why are you here?" I demanded.

Bella still wasn't facing me. I could see her long hair, and her pale hands, still clutching that photo, "Reg is dead." She told me, matter-of-factly.

I froze, "what?"

"Reg. Your brother. He's dead. He tried to back out, the Dark Lord killed him." There was a pause, "I support him in that, we can't have deviations, but I thought maybe you'd like to know."

I thought about it.

"Sirius?" she asked, quiet, "how do you feel?"

"I'm not sure yet," I answered honestly, "but I'm glad he died going back on his master. Not a good little lap-dog after all."

I waited for Bella to scream at me, to rant at me, but she didn't.

"Lets not talk about that," she whispered, sounding guilty, "we've never agreed on that. We'll just fight."

I was confused, "well, what the hell do you want to talk about?" I snapped, "how the years have been since we saw each other last? Or maybe about how we felt about the outcomes of battles when we were on different sides? Which of each others friends we've killed? Which of each other's friends almost killed us?"

"Years is good," Bella whispered, "how have you been?"

Completely at a loss, I simply answered her, sitting down on the couch, "alright, I suppose. I'm still very close with James and Lily," she stiffened a little, "Remus and Peter and everybody."

"Peter?" she asked, and I wondered at how odd her voice sounded.

"You probably wouldn't remember him. Short guy, a bit plump. Complete suck up, but we love him anyway."

I wondered whether I should be telling her this, but decided it was alright. After all, what could she possibly get out of it?

I was in fact very detached from the situation. I felt light headed- I felt I was floating above, watching down with a distinct lack of interest.

"What else?" she was asking now, "I see that you're still living with…"

"Yeah, I am." I nodded, "but not for long, I don't think."

An exaggeration. One I indulged in every time we fought.

"Alright," Bella sounded odd again, "I'm still with Rodolphus."

"Ok,"

"We- I- just had a miscarriage."

I knew that that was bad news. I knew she was upset about it from the way she said it and from the set of her head. But, for whatever reason, that didn't quite process.

"Our second" Bella elaborated.

"Ah," I couldn't help but hope _she_ was prone to miscarriages.

Bella was sitting next to me on the couch now, our knees touching. I could feel the warmth of her through my sleeve.

"I think," she said quietly, "that it isn't my fault, and it isn't Rodolphus' fault that we can't have children."

I didn't care, "oh?"

"It's because our blood isn't close enough. Because he's not a Black."

"what do you mean…."

"Do you remember," she cut in, smiling, "when we were little, we'd play Kings and Queens? You were always the prince, and I was always the princess."

I grinned, remembering, "Reg and Cissy were other suitors for your hand, and I'd have to beat them in a spectacular wizarding duel."

In my mind I was a child again, waving around a twig from the garden, threatening my brother and little Sissy, brandishing my 'wand' and booming out at them.

"Andi was the queen. It was her job to give permission for us to marry," Bella's smile changed a little, "she always gave it."

"how could she not?" I asked, grinning, "when I was a wizard of abnormal talent, who could blast her into oblivion if she refused?"

"How could she not, when we looked so perfect together?"

This seemed to be getting a little strange. That is, even stranger. Bella shifted closer to me.

"I've missed you, Sirius," she whispered, resting her head on my shoulder, "I knew when you were put in Gryffindor that we'd have problems, but I never thought we'd go years without seeing each other."

If I had been sober, I would never have let her in the house. If I had been sober, I would have let her deliver her message and then sent her away. If I had been sober, she would have been captured, because my wand would have been in my pocket. If I had been sober, _she_ would have come home, and we'd have discussed calmly the idea of a baby, and come to a decision together.

I wasn't sober. I was drunk.

"I've missed you, too." I whispered back, putting an arm around her shoulders, "but, you know…..with Voldemort…"

"Sshh…." Bella put a finger to my lips, "no. Don't go there."

I don't like doing what I'm told. I opened my mouth to speak again, and instead of putting her finger back, Bella kissed me.

It wasn't a cousinly kiss. It was long and deep and full of …well, something. I think I might have tried to push her off at first, but eventually, everything which made me realise that this was wrong collapsed.

That we were cousins? So? It's happened before in history.

That she was a death eater? And? This had nothing to do with that.

That she'd killed my friends? We all make mistakes.

And _her_?

I thrust that one from my mind and put my arms around Bella's waist. She smiled and wrapped a leg around my back, pulling me against her.

"Sirius," she whispered, "bedroom."

That made sense. Without much effort, I picked her up, still kissing her, and stumbled against a wall. We both laughed, and she twined her hands in my hair, "on second thoughts," she whispered, "here is fine."

Not really paying much attention to what I was doing, I fell down against her, cushioning her head with my hand, while her hands came down to unbuckle my belt, fumbling with the clasps. All the while she kissed me, and I kissed drunkenly back. This hurts to think of.

Thinking of it now, I wonder if she was taking advantage a little bit. Did she even care that I was drunk? That I'd regret it?

But no, I don't think she did. And really, I cannot blame her any more than I can blame myself. She was insistent enough, anyway, hiking up her skirt, pulling down my pants, and wrapping herself around me as I swung on top of her.

I don't remember it all. I think that that's probably a blessing, but I remember that we finished, and straight away I felt wrong. When I looked down and saw Bella's long, dark hair fanning out behind her, I felt sick to my stomach.

"I think you should leave." I thought to myself, "now."

Her head jerked up, "what!"

Apparently I had thought out loud.

"You heard me."

"What, but, why?"

"I think you know why." She sat up as I lurched to my feet, "god, my head is going to hurt tomorrow."

"Sirius," she snapped, "what is _wrong_ with you?"

"Huh?"

She frowned, "listen, this- shit. This isn't some drunken mistake that you'll regret in the morning." She said, at the exact same time as I stumbled over the sentence, "Bella, this is something I will regret in the morning."

Her eyes narrowed momentarily, and she placed her hand against my face, running it down my cheek, "Sirius," she whispered in my ear, "_this_ is right. This is how it was _meant _to be. Why do you think you always hated Rodolphus so much?"

That was an incredibly good point.

Bella sensed my hesitation and jumped on it, "why do you think you were always so angry to see us together?"

And just in that moment, through a drunken haze, I remembered every time Lestrange had grabbed on to her, been dismissive of her, _talked_ to her, even.

And I saw red. How dare he? Maybe Bella was right. Maybe we _were_ meant to be together. After all, our family had been doing it for hundreds of years. Just because I had reservations didn't mean that it was wrong. Because, really, I was one man, and people had been doing this for centuries. Longer.

So, when she kissed me again, I kissed her back, and fiercely this time. It was almost, I suppose, like I was angry at her. And she bucked and writhed and crushed herself against me, all the while I was verging on being violent, and, I would discover when it was over, crying.

I challenge anyone to tell me of a more dysfunctional coupling.

A few hours later, I tried to make her leave again, and she shouted at me, while I shouted at her, and we ended up going at it _again_, this time backed up against a wall.

In between, I would continue to swig at my disgusting concoction of vodka-firewhiskey, with a spritz of brandy, just for some flavour, probably because even though it made me gag, I'd rather be disgusted at a taste, which would go away, than the deep, dark realisation that I'd crossed a line that night.

Eventually, I was thankfully too drunk to continue, and ended up passed out, one arm flung across Bella.

I think, at some point I started thinking about everything that had happened over that day, and began to stress. I thought about _her_, furious and beautiful and probably still pregnant, and I thought about how I wished she would lose the bloody baby, so we could go back to normal. Because even though I'd told her to leave many times before, and she'd once wrestled me out of the door and refused to let me in for two days (I crept in while she was called out to duty, and when she came back, she pretended nothing had happened, her way of apologising), the fight we'd just had had a ring of finality to it. Usually, when we disagreed, it was temporary, and even when she said that 'that was that' it was still negotiable. But this had felt different.

"You know the real reason, don't you?"

I had no idea what that meant, or who it was talking, until I looked down to see Bella spread out across my chest. I asked her what she meant, thrusting away feelings of confusion.

Bella tossed her head, and her hair slipped down across her back, "it's because that baby, _her_ baby, isn't really meant to be. You know, because of the wrong blood."

I realised I'd been speaking all my worries out loud, in that happy, oblivious way of the very drunk. Only I was sober now, and confused.

"Bella, what are we doing?" I asked her seriously.

She frowned, then smiled saucily, "do you want me to remind you?" she asked,

I groaned, but mostly from exasperation.

"I want," she murmured, "the baby to have dark hair, and grey eyes, like us."

"There's a reasonable chance of that," I pointed out, amazingly unaroused, "seeing as how we both have dark hair and grey eyes."

"It runs in the family," Bella announced, almost conspiratorially.

And I realised something. Something rather major.

It wasn't that we were related, that wasn't why this felt wrong. Frankly, I didn't care all that much. No, the reason I didn't like the way this was going was because I didn't _like_ Bella, and every second with her seemed like a betrayal of something deeper.

I sat up abruptly, and she fell off of me.

"Sirius?" she asked.

"Get out." I snapped, running a hand through my hair, "shit, what is the time….."

Bella placed a hand on my shoulder, "Sirius, it doesn't matter, it…"

"Like hell it doesn't matter," I groaned, "she'll be home soon, and I want this all cleaned up before she gets here."

Bella's eyes narrowed dangerously, "all this?" she asked, enunciating each word.

I pushed her out of the way, and realised something else- something bigger.

Here was Bella- my cousin. My friend. My confidante. My ally. All through my childhood- my rock. She had been the only one who'd always stood by me. She was the only member of my family who refused to give up, who constantly professed that she would accept me back, no matter what i did, no matter how much time passed. She was a constant in my life that i needed- she was proof that i had a family, and that they loved me. Because no matter how hard i tried, a small part of me always, always craved their love.

Here was Bella- my enemy, a murdress, a liar and a prejudiced, superior sorceress.

How many of my friends had she killed? How many families had been blasted apart under her cool gaze? How many muggle children had she watched die, all while hoping for one of her own? How many mothers had she killed, while planning to be one herself?

Suddenly I was sick to my stomach, literally. All the while holding Bella's cold grey gaze, I retched my guts out onto the floor.

Need I tell you more?

Wracked with guilt, and consumed by sudden anger- at myself as well as at Bella- I launched myself at her, summoning my wand and flinging a blast of pure power at her.

She of course repelled it with ease, all the while imploring me to 'be logical' to 'remember what we had', until even she could tell that I was having none of it, and she began to shout at me, until we were engaged in what was probably the most intense and shortest duel of all time.

I was disarmed in a matter of minutes- wand cast away by Bella's spells, crumpled against the wall, where I'd been thrown by a particularly brutal hex.

Bella stared down at me, sitting- disgusting though it is- in my own sick. Even then, I remember feeling, in a disoriented way, as though this degradation was suitable, deserved. I remember feeling that to sit there, in such a humiliating condition, was a consequence which barely made up for what I had done.

"I just don't understand you," Bella hissed at me, "can't you see that this is right? That this is _true_? All our lives have been a preparation for _this_ moment- this moment right here, this choice- this second!" her mouth tightened, and her eyes were absurdly bright in her face. My head was spinning and those eyes- my eyes- seemed to suck all the colour out of our surroundings, "you know what you have to do here, Sirius," she said, "come on, Black, you know what you have to do."

I think it was that word which jolted me out of my stupor once more.

Black.

Me. Black. Sirius Black. Son Black, brother Black, nephew Black.

Cousin Black.

I had failed at all of these roles, all of them, because I wasn't meant to be like this- I wasn't meant to be a Black. Hell, I wasn't really a Black at all.

But no- that wasn't true either.

In an epiphany much what you'd expect from a drunkard sitting in a pool of vomit with the cousin he'd just screwed staring down at him, I realised I was a Black, entirely a Black- through and through and through.

I had the looks, no denying it. I had the pride, it must be said. I had the arrogance in bucketloads. I had the quick wit, as any could attest, and I had the sharp and cutting mind which was so fiercely, mercilessly, inconsiderately logical. If I were to be honest, I told myself, I even had a small amount of that famous, pureblood snobbery- a smidgen of the old prejudices which had brought our world to the brink of destruction.

I was a Black- I had all the qualities.

But- and here is the epiphany- I had so much more.

I had everything that the Blacks prided themselves on- all of their strengths and weaknesses. But somehow, somewhere along the line, I had developed a fierce determination to see right done. Despite my upbringing, a strange sort of desire to quell those prejudices within me- I had recognised these flaws and I was striving to quash them.

More than that- I could have fun. There was a zest for life in me that I'd not seen in any of my relatives. I wanted everything and anything life had to offer- I wanted it all, and at nobody's expense.

Because that was another thing. Unlike my family, who strove so very hard to protect the family name, all I wanted was to protect my own family- the one I had chosen for myself. Remus, Lily, James, Peter, little baby Harry, Andi and Ted, the Weasleys.

And most of all, more than any other- _her_.

_Her_- the only one who'd seen this epiphany before me. She'd always called me Black, before we were friends, but she'd known the truth. There'd been a smile in her voice as she said it- _Black_- with an almost sarcastic caress. She knew I was a Black, but she knew that I was more- she knew that I was _different_ from my family.

And that thought- that simple realisation that she understood me better than I ever had, and from the moment we'd met- was what gave me the strength to banish Bella from my house, from _our_ home, for good.

I won't tell you how. It was difficult, though it is testament to her great faith in my Black nature that she never fought to kill me- only to subdue me. I think she was sure- perhaps she still is sure, that I would relent and 'realise' we were meant to be.

We are not. We never were.

Even now, with your mother dead and gone, there is nothing about Bella which could ever ever inspire anything other that pity, and that strong hate which comes when love is disappointed and so sours beyond redemption.

She is my cousin, Estelle. Your aunt.

She is all that remains of my childhood- when I was blissfully ignorant of the evils of the world, when my brother and I were friends, when I had the pride and love of a mother, and the fierce protection of a father.

Back when everything was simple and good, though of course it never truly was.

She is my innocence, Estelle, a cruel and twisted innocence though it was.

I wonder now if she hates me as much as I hate her.

She tortured poor Alice, poor lovely Alice with her innocent flirting and her sweet eyes, and Frank, with his staunch loyalty and easy grin, into insanity.

Even if I somehow survive this mess, I will never see them laugh again. I will never see them smile and look coyly at each other. Their joy at each other's company was so special, Estelle- their love was all that is good, and now they wouldn't know each other from a bar of soap.

Because of my cousin. I could have killed her that day.

Perhaps I do not want to go outside, to leave this house which is my prison. The world you inhabit is so different from the world I knew- how could I live in a place where all those I loved are dead or faded?

Oh, Estelle, you are all that is left for me in this world.

And now, no doubt, you hate me, after reading of this.

Oh, I hope you read so far as these words- I could not blame you if you chose not to- if you threw this away in disgust after seeing barely the first page.

After all- I read my own words and cringe in disgust, not only at what I did but at what I _felt_.

I hated you, mysterious Estelle. How could that be? How could I hate you when I was the closest I'd ever been to you, ever have been to you? How could I hate you then, when now I love you more than anything in this world, so fiercely I can feel my love pumping through my veins?

How can this be happening? How how how can foolish, selfish decisions I made as a child, really, affect the way you think of me today?

I should not have told you. I should never have told you-

But of course I should have. You must know me, all of me. You have to know why your mother left me, kept us apart even before it was said that I killed James and Lily.

This had to be, Estelle, even if you hear nothing more from me.

I promised I would not make excuses. I will not. But I will beg you for your understanding and your forgiveness.

There are not words strong enough to describe the utter idiot which I was on this day. I was selfish, and thoughtless, and hard hearted.

I forgot all of those whose lives had been given in the defence of innocents from Bella and her kind, right back to poor Mr Potter, when I was just a child, really.

I was beyond a fool- I was callous that day, and we both know it. I would never ever deny it, and I could never hope to redeem myself fully in your eyes.

It was truly a day in which I proved that even one who considers himself to be good can make terrible choices. Life as I knew it changed on that day. I feel I have served penance every day since for that one choice.

But please, Estelle, understand that it was just one day.

One day, when I had been drinking. One day, after yet another attack had taken a friend from me. One day, in the middle of a war I resented, with family I still cared for. One day, when the woman I loved gave me news that there would soon be even more people for me to worry for in this world. One day, when the woman I loved told me of yet another responsibility to be placed on my selfish, unprepared shoulders. One day, when we fought so terribly I wondered if it was all over.

One day alone.

One day spent in memories of simpler times, of childhood, of family.

One day, Estelle, in a lifetime spent atoning for it.

Every person is entitled to one epic mistake in their lifetime. One moment to regret for all time, to make you appreciate your good choices; to help you learn.

I have made two, and both out of fear of responsibility. First, when I told James and Lily that I should not be secret keeper. Second, when I sent_ her_ from the house with hateful words, and then did the most atrocious thing I could ever have done to drive her away.

But I suppose I did not do it to drive her away, so much as because I was always a coward, and always a fool, and always more stupid and more reckless when I was faced with responsibility.

But, oh, these words do not explain it, Estelle. Nothing can explain it, there is no plausible reason for my behaviour, and that hurts me so much.

So you may never forgive me for that day, that one, single day in which I was a fool, and I can understand that.

But I hope you do forgive me. Because though it may sound selfish to say, I truly believe that I have spent my life making up for that mistake. I have suffered more than any other, because I was lucid and live and _felt_ each exquisite minute of pain. You know, I survived Azkaban with the majority of my sanity intact for the simple reason that, as I had no happy thoughts, the dementors could not rob me of them. How could they steal hope from a hopeless man, Estelle?

I beat them because, unlike the others in there- those who murdered and maimed and tortured, I was a man who thought only of loss. Of sadness. Of love and friendship forever gone. Of chances missed. Of revenge.

And there is no hope, not even bleakest hope, in any of those thoughts.

Estelle, you will judge me now, I know. Never again will I be your father, even in the barest sense- you will hate me for a time.

But I ask -and perhaps this is selfish, and certainly it is more than I myself can do- that one day, perhaps not next year, or the year after that, or even the year after that, but one day, you forgive me, even just a little.

I do not want you to hate me, but I love you so entirely that I have chosen to bare my soul, even with the knowledge that you will cringe away from it. Remus knows nothing of this. James and Lily? Nothing. Harry? Never shall he know _any_ of this.

Only you, because I love you so much I want you to know me completely, even if you hate me for it. Because, Estelle, you make me _hope_ again. You make me feel that maybe it is possible to be forgiven for this awful betrayal.

I love Harry so much that, like James, I never ever want him to think badly of me at all. I want him to think me impervious to harm, indomitable, strong and fierce and loyal. I could not bear him to

But I love you so much that I want you to be able to love all of me or none of me. I want no lies between us, Estelle. Nothing unspoken and hidden.

I want clarity and light, and so I gave you my shadows.

Only you know of that fateful day, which ruined so many things.

Only you, and _her._

_..._

**So, although this is a side of Sirius that isn't charming or likeable, i think that, as a chronic womanizer, it is a realistic side.**

**Also, Bella kills Sirius- and there's obviously a reasonably amount of tension between them in the books. i wanted a background for that which was plausible, and more dramatic than a simple family pride issue.**

**I figured that, in a pureblood family renowned for marrying into itself, Bella may very well have formed an attachment to him. that coupled with the fact that despite the fact that it is implied that pureblood families like to expand and continue the family line, there's no mention of Bella having a child.**

**Yes, it is possible that she may have dedicated herself to her 'cause', but this is the version i am going with.**

**I'm sorry if you don't like it, but i think that mistakes are a part of life, and while this is a big one, it is also a plausible one, considering how turbulent and chaotic the times would have been**

**really hope i haven't offended anybody! feel free to vent.**


	30. Chapter 30

Are you still here?

Estelle, do your eyes still grace these pages? Do you read on, or am I now writing for the benefit of whoever pulls this manuscript from the rubbish heap?

I can have no way of knowing, though I hope you read on.

In fact, I will assume for my own peace of mind, that you _do_. That you read this, unhappy though you must be with me.

I shall continue as though nothing has happened- I will write to you, whether you read or not.

No more shall I speak of that last entry.

No more shall I think on it.

For now, I will pretend that it never happened, as indeed I wish you could.

…

I suppose, mysterious Estelle, that what must next happen is I must tell you of my graduation from Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

You may notice that I have skipped over my NEWTS.

That is because, and I am not proud of this attitude, studies are not important.

Wait- scratch that.

Studies are incredibly important. Parties can happen any time. Boyfriends are the same. Study, Estelle. Study and do something worthwhile with your life, won't you?

Your mother would kill me if I told you any different.

I can hear her now, "you told her _what_? Wonderful role model, Black. Just stellar."

She'd want you to learn from our mistakes, not repeat them.

No doubt, however, you inherited both our brains and it'll be no difficulty at all to breeze through your subjects with nary a thought for study. Really, once the theory of any subject is grasped, the rest comes down to logic, as I'm sure you've figured out.

But I digress.

Rather badly.

What I was telling you, I believe, is that I was set to graduate from Hogwarts. I passed my NEWTS. Exceedingly well, I am happy to say, and I know that many teachers were infuriated by mine and James' last minute rise to academic brilliance. We were of course quite near to the top of the year, results wise. Remus, of course, kept himself consistently in the top 5 students of the entire school- to be honest, he was probably in the top 2, but let us avoid giving him a big head, shall we?

Peter, unfortunately, struggled. James, Remus and I devoted many hours to assisting him as he grappled with the basics of our curriculum. Oh, it was frustrating. Without even the slightest pretence of false modesty, I feel compelled to tell you that we three were extremely intelligent, when we tried, and though James and Remus mixed their brains with compassion, I had no patience for stupidity, no empathy for those less gifted than myself.

And so, studying with Peter went hard on me, and I often found myself snapping at him, chastising him, being overly brutal.

"Merlin's Beard," I snarled, watching Peter botch a simple charm, "for the 500th time, you flick left _sharply_, then arc the wand to the right." I demonstrated the movement, "honestly, Wormtail- it's all very well and good to still be a virgin at 17, but to not know your left and right is a sad state of affairs."

"Oh, back off, Padfoot," James said mildly- and then kindly to Peter, "you've almost got it! I saw a little spark that time."

What? A spark?

I smiled tightly, "was it an invisible spark?" I asked sweetly, and Peter's face fell a little, "was it invisible, and without any smell and at room temperature? Was it a big fat spark of _nothing_, because I think I maybe saw that one, too."

"Sirius," Remus warned, as Peter's eyes teared up, "be _nice_, Sirius."

Nice? When wasn't I nice? "look, it's just beyond me," I said, the very picture of reason and sympathy, "why Wormtail can't grasp this stuff? I mean, it's basic stuff- we all know how to do it, and we've gone over it with him a million different times, and he still can't even muster up the slightest little _spark_." I shot Peter a look, "you'd better hope you never have to blast anything, Peter."

Peter's eyes were watery, which, in my foul mood, only served to annoy me more, "I _need_ this spell," he said quietly, "I need all attack spells to be perfect!"

"Right." I nodded, "optimism. I like it. Only, is this 'optimism' or some sort of weird, delusional thing?"

"Sirius," Remus said, "leave him _alone_! He needs these spells to be great, and we'll get him there."

James was looking impatient, too. It had been several hours out of our day to help Peter, and because the material we were revising was so simple, it couldn't even be counted as study of our own. He shot me a sympathetic look, "well, Moony," he shrugged- a shrug which represented defeat and good natured exasperation, "we have been over this spell a lot. And it _is_ taking a fairly long time for Peter to get it." he looked kindly at poor Peter, who was snivelling a little pathetically in the corner, "do you really need _all_ the attack spells?"

Peter nodded, and I threw my hands into the air in defeat, "why, Peter?" I demanded, "why on earth would you possibly need a good mark for D.A.D.A? I mean, _really_…."

It was a fair question, as James' expression suggested. Why _did_ he need a good mark? Peter just wanted a nice junior post at the ministry, didn't he? Something like that?

"I want to be an auror!" Peter blurted suddenly, completely oblivious to the fact that he was answering (albeit in a foolish way) my unvoiced questions, "I want to be an auror with Sirius." His eyes flicked to me, and then as his face reddened, away again.

I blinked twice. James blinked twice.

And then we started laughing.

"What, _really_, Pete?" James guffawed, "an _auror_? You hate all that stuff! You're _awful_ at it!"

Remus pursed his lips in disapproval, but you could tell that he was at least a little inclined to agree with us. Please, Estelle, don't think us overly harsh- truth be told, we were a little cruel, but we were in the habit of being honest, a little mocking, with each other. It only seems so cruel because Peter was so incapable of handling it. He never could bear to be laughed at, but he'd rather that than to be alone."

"Really," I grinned, "an _auror_? What, are you going to defeat your opponents in an epic game of 'hide and seek'?" This was a reference to the last time Peter was challenged to a duel- we hadn't found him until two days after his would-be duelist declared the match a forfeit.

"Guys," Remus growled, "just leave him! He has his reasons!"

"Give me one," James laughed, wiping a tear from his eye, "I'm really curious now."

"Sirius is going to be an auror!" Peter blurted. There was an awkward silence as we all processed this, "I want to be near Sirius."

Oh _dear_. Nobody said anything. We were all rather surprised at Peter's hasty words. Perhaps not Remus, on second thoughts. He looked more resigned than surprised- he'd probably known all this earlier and been dreading my discovery of it. Of course, Peter was merely asserting his desire to be near the individual he saw as able to protect him, and envelop him in their cooler aura. We did not, at the time, realise this. At the time, it sounded as though he were saying, well…

"Pete," James said finally, with a grin which meant he was about to break the tension, "you want to get close to Black here, you should have started earlier. There's a long, long line of girls who called dibs on him before you."

Alright, well, the grin meant that he _intended_ to break the tension. As it was, implying that Peter had a crush on me only made the two of us more uncomfortable. Myself especially.

"Okay," I said, "enough studying- I'm going to go… see Annika."

James' eyebrow quirked up, "what, and then do other bloke-ish things, like drink beer and watch quidditch? Build a shed?" James never did know when to stop. Remus looked like he was a second away from gagging poor Prongs.

"Yup, that's me," I agreed, "bloke things."

"Wait, Sirius!" Remus said quickly, "you're the best at this spell- Peter needs you…" he was attempting to make Peter feel better. Wormtail was of course humiliated at this stage, staring listlessly into his clammy hands with a face vaguely the colour of a tomato. He only needed reassurance that I was unbothered by James' idiotic comments. Unfortunately for him, I never did enjoy reassuring people.

"Yeah, well," I shrugged, "I think if he doesn't have it now, he won't ever." I shot him a guilty look, "sorry, Wormy."

James was slowly cottoning on to the fact that he'd offended Peter, now, but was far too stubborn (and convinced of the funniness of his own joke) to admit it, "I think I'll go with you, Padfoot." He said with a grin, "I need some bloke time myself."

I shot him a look, clearly attempting to convey my lack of gratitude, but he brushed it off with a grin, "really," he said, "I have to go, because I'm supposed to be patrolling the corridors."

Remus could hardly fault that as an excuse- the Head Boy had duties to attend to, those were set in stone, and rules that Remus could respect.

Of course, both Remus and I were aware that 'patrolling the corridors' meant long, moonlit strolls of the school with Lily. We said nothing to correct him- there was little point.

He seemed to know what we were thinking anyway, and rolled his eyes, "come on, guys," he said earnestly, "we're actually going to patrol this time, honest!" Obviously regretting teasing Peter, James shot him a conspiratorial wink, "Macgonnagal is all up in arms because- and I quote- _'Never before has the rate of mischief performed in the school's corridors _increased_ with the appointment of a new Head Boy'_."

I grinned happily, fully aware that I was the instigator of said mischief, and that James was only to blame in that he did not ever try to curb my idiocy.

Of course, I rarely even remembered that James _was_ Head Boy. We behaved in an almost identical manner to how we had before, and so I really gave very little significance to his honorary title. Other than, of course, to mock the unfortunate wording of it mercilessly. Surely you understand that behaviour, Estelle. I was, after all, an adolescent male.

"Well, Sirius, at least, could stay!" Remus said again, looking tired, "you really are probably the best as duelling, Sirius. We need your help."

I shrugged, "you're not bad at duelling, Remus," I pointed out, "I reckon you'd be just fine teaching him yourself. Besides, I think my skill in duelling is the result of years of gruelling study."

James snorted, getting to his feet and stretching with a grin plastered across his face, "yup. That'd do it- all your _study_."

"Studying won't make me any better," Peter piped up suddenly, "after all, Sirius is only good at duelling because it runs in his family." He smiled thinly, "Bellatrix was good at duelling, remember?"

My smile froze on my face, and Remus stepped in for some well-timed damage control, "he has a point, Bella _was_ very good at duelling."

"Better than Sirius." Peter suggested.

I've never really enjoyed the idea that others are more talented than myself, "I wouldn't say so, necessarily." I stated, through gritted teeth.

"Lestrange beat you," Peter pointed out now, not looking at me, or James or even Remus, but instead staring down at his hands, "remember? He beat you easily. Even Dahlquist thought it was pathetic. I heard her say so- afterwards."

"I don't think she would have said that," Remus said, looking wary, "that isn't the sort of thing Lee would say about a stranger," in a valiant effort to relieve the tension, Remus added, "she might've said you were a tosser, but she wouldn't have called you pathetic, I don't think."

"She could beat you in a duel, too." Peter piped up once more, and James shuffled awkwardly on his feet, "Dahlquist was a better witch than you."

"We could never really put that theory to the test," I said with a controlled smile, "seeing as how I'm not a witch." James laughed, I think purely to add some light to the oppressive silence, and I smiled at him, "well, I'm off to see Annika now, boys."

James followed suit, "corridor patrol, here I come," he enthused happily, before shooting a look at Remus. It was a look of apology, but no remorse. He was aware that his choice to abandon poor Remus to the rigours of tutoring Peter was unfair, but he would not willingly subject himself to _more_ hours of it.

I did not bother with the look. I had never volunteered, never _claimed_ to have any interest in participating, and only gave my help when I felt particularly charitable. I was selfish and stupid.

"I'm off, too." I told them, "I did say I'd meet Annika."

"Just _go_, Sirius," Remus said, exasperated, "I'll deal with this."

Perfect.

"Alright, well, good luck, men. I'm sure you'll get those spells down in no time," I announced cheerily, doffing an imaginary hat in silent salute. Before I made it to the doorway, Peter's voice came after me, though he spoke very quietly.

I almost cannot be sure that he spoke at all, and yet it surely seemed that way.

He said, Estelle, "Bella could beat you, too. And she will. One day."

And people wondered why I didn't help him more.

When I went to visit Annika, she was in a bad mood.

She was also studying. I have mentioned that she was in the year below us, have I not?

Well, if I have been remiss in that, I am mentioning it now, which is surely plenty!

Her OWLs were fast approaching, and being both ambitious and intelligent, she was determined to top her year level. This is a prime example of her dedication and perseverance- both admirable qualities. It is also an example of why she was not always as much fun as I would have liked. 'Study dates' aren't really dates. They're just two hormonal individuals trying to focus on their school work, rather than indulge in their fantasies of being thrown onto the nearest bed by their 'study date'. They seem pointless and difficult to me, and so I have always subscribed to forcing any sessions with a girl to be either a 'date' or 'study'.

Being myself, I preferred 'date'.

"Stop _nagging_!" Annika screeched at me, and I lifted my hands in supplication. I was praying she would not kill me. She _was_ brandishing her wand in a rather threatening manner. Being in possession of rather top form survival instincts, I took a step away from her.

"All I said was 'would you like a study break'?" I pointed out, "you don't need to be so touchy."

Annika's eyebrows darted down into a fierce frown, and her nostrils flared. That always meant trouble, "oh, so basically _propositioning _me when I've already said 'no' isn't annoying?"

Some other 6th years shot us scandalised looks from a few metres away.

"That isn't what I was saying," I said through gritted teeth, "I was only asking if maybe you were tired of studying and wanted to have fun? I mean, everybody needs a break sometimes, and let's face it, I've been watching you study for a while now, and it's not interesting… "

"Oh," she snarled, "so now I'm the bad guy because my desires to _academically better myself_ are 'boring' you?"

"Annika, shut up," I muttered, as more heads turned our way.

"What did you say to me?" she screeched. I knew as soon as I opened my mouth that I should never have let those words pass my lips. Shit. "My god, you are unbelievable, Sirius!" she announced, "you can't be with me for _one hour_ without getting pissy that we're not having sex!"

Unfair! And mostly untrue!

I made to voice these thoughts, before remembering what happened last time I opened my mouth without thinking- Annika had moved the volume of her rage up a level. If I spoke out of turn again, they'd hear her over in France.

"Babe, that isn't true." I said carefully, "you know I love spending time with you! It's just that I- well, I've been studying so much lately that I'm exhausted! Really! And you always calm me down- make me see straight." I could tell she was softening a little bit, "so I figured you could really help me, here- but I see that I'm only distracting you…." I stood up, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead and smiling down at her.

"She is _crazy_!" A fourth year muttered from close by, "is she going to let him _leave_?"

Annika heard that, I am pleased to say, and reacted just as I would've hoped. Her eyes flashed with grasping determination, and she reached up, grabbing handfuls of my shirt and pulling me back down into a kiss.

"I could use a study break," she whispered to me with a little smile.

Yes!

We headed to her dorm first, before I came up with a brilliant idea. One of the benefits of James taking the Head Boy role was that he had his own quarters. He'd be there with Lily, naturally, but she was Head Girl, so whoever's room they were in, there was still a spare.

Holding Annika by the hand, I snuck her through the corridor, up to the rather attractive Head Rooms.

They were (thankfully!) in Lily's rooms. So I invited myself into James'. Perhaps this seems a little rude, or presumptuous, to you, Estelle.

I assure you, it was frightfully rude and presumptuous. But James and I had always shared everything, and we had already made prior arrangements about this sort of thing.

In James' own words- 'Anything goes, so long as you change the sheets after'

I won't bore you with details.

All you need to know is that afterwards, Annika wanted to cuddle, and I obliged her, and I fell into one of those awful half sleeps. You know the ones I am sure. You are neither dreaming or awake- you are merely there, hardly lucid, but aware of your surroundings.

And while I was in this half sleep, stroking Annika's hair, I mumbled at her, "your hair feels different." It did, too. It was straighter, coarser. Didn't it used to be messy? Curly? Fine and silky?

"mmph."

"I liked it before,"

"mmph."

And then, after that diverting conversation, I fell briefly asleep. Not for long- perhaps for a few minutes, perhaps longer.

And when I awoke, I was alone in the bed. My eyes were bleary from sleep, and I ran a tired hand through my hair, blinking sleepily. That was when I saw her- standing silhouetted against the window, wearing little more than a flimsy robe, her hair tangled and wild. I could tell she was smiling her special smile at me- I could tell it.

"Lee." I breathed, with another tired smile, "I thought I was dreaming….."

And then she moved towards me, and as I struggled to keep my eyes open, she leaned in close and…. Slapped my face.

"What did you just call me?"

And then I was awake.

"Holy shit!" I gaped at Annika, who glared down at me, "Anni- that wasn't what it sounded like!"

She laughed, "oh, okay- what was it, then? It sounded like you telling me you had a dream about your ex!"

Had I had a dream about Lee? I didn't really remember…. It was a nice dream, I think….

But Annika was staring down at me, and I knew I needed an explanation fast. So I banished the idea of Lee skipping around my dreams from my mind and shook my head, "no, no- Anni, I had a dream about Lee, yeah! She was back at Hogwarts, and she asked to go swimming in the lake- but her entire body was….." I thought for a moment, "covered in these weird….. scales! Scales! And all her hair was feathers… it was so strange, Anni. She was standing there- naked…" That was a mistake. I had never actually seen Lee naked, but as I imagined it, I could feel myself sucked into the voids that were her laughing eyes. I couldn't doze off now. Sharply I pinched myself, "but she wasn't human at all! And just kept making… weird noises… it was so rank, Anni- the worst nightmare ever."

Annika still looked suspicious, but I'd just classified a dream about naked Lee as a 'nightmare'. She couldn't really complain too much, after all.

Of course, she still ran off in a huff- she never did miss an opportunity to do so, but I could tell I was already forgiven.

Pulling on a pair of James' jeans and my old shirt, I wandered barefoot into the common room of the quarters.

To my 'joy', Lily was sitting on the couch, holding a cup of coffee and looking concerned.

"Hi, Lily flower," I mumbled blearily, collapsing next to her.

She grinned at me, "Sirius," I muttered something back at her, "you seem particularly vibrant this evening."

I cracked open one eye and looked at the coffee table Lily was leaning over.

"Study," I said, accusatorily, pointing at the offending textbooks.

Lily raised an eyebrow and pointed one finger at me, "idiot." She said casually, "you know most people actually _do_ study for their NEWTS- especially if they want to be an auror."

I nodded, "yeah? Well I've heard that most people _share_ their coffee with their clearly exhausted friends- especially if they don't want to wake up one morning to find all the statues and suits of armour in the school wearing their underwear."

Lily's eyes widened, "that was _you_? Oh, Sirius! Poor Maryse cried all week….."

I smiled evilly, and reached out a hand, "coffee. Now."

Meekly, she handed me the mug, which I drained without a thought. Other than to make a quietly disapproving noise, Lily made no comment. There was companionable silence for a little while, but she was fidgeting every few minutes, which always meant she had something she wanted to say.

"Out with it." I said plainly, flicking a piece of dirt out from under my nail.

She laughed, "what? Nothing! I was just going to say how strange it is that we're almost finished school."

"Yeah?" I said, disinterested.

She frowned, "you could at least pretend to care." She said snootily.

I shrugged, "I _could_, but….."

"Well, I think that it's amazing that everybody has all come to this point- a turning point in all our lives." She gushed. I made a non committal noise, "only, I guess not everybody _is_ here to see this…."

"Alright."

"Like… Lee. Lee isn't here to see this!" Lily gave a theatrical sigh, "I was so _sure_ she'd be here- and yet she isn't."

"Uncanny."

"I wonder _when_ we'll see her again." Lily said- attempting to sound nonchalant. She was a truly awful actress, Estelle, "maybe… tomorrow? Or when our first examination begins? Or…"

"In 1year, 2years, 10years…." I finished in a sing song voice, "did you have any more coffee?"

Lily pointedly ignored me, "I miss her a _lot_. I just cannot wait to see her again! Can you?" she didn't wait for an answer, "hopefully it will be soon… I just wish I knew _when_…."

"I'm going to find more coffee," I told Lily brightly. This was turning out to be such a horrendous day.

"So then…." Lily said. I waited. She did not elaborate.

"Okay, bye!" I called cheerily, waving at her- then making a run for it.

"So, obviously what I'm trying to ask," Lily called after me, "is 'when is Lee coming home?'"

Ouch. I tried not to wince. It'd been about a month now- maybe slightly more, and with no word from Lee whatsoever. I was beginning to lose patience, and with it, self-confidence. I had begun to doubt whether I'd played that scene in Lee's house out correctly. It seemed so surreal, so dreamlike that it was nigh impossible to recreate- had I misinterpreted something? Had I said something wrong?

I was so unsure, so confused. I could barely process everything that had happened. And yet I was so _sure_, when I'd returned, that Lee would follow. If the event itself is a blur to me, that I know for certain. I can recall the triumph, the quiet surety as I stepped from that fireplace. Lee _was_ coming back. I had known it.

Only, she wasn't back yet.

"Sirius?"

Lily was looking at me all expectantly. Her eyes were huge and innocent looking- and _hopeful_. And here I was, to crush that hope.

"Yeah, I'm not sure," I told her honestly, "that's why I told James not to tell you, actually. Because I wasn't sure."

"Yeah, well, he told me." Lily said, sounding annoyed.

"Yeah, well, he's a prick." I snapped, "I don't know if she's coming back- now or _ever_, actually. I haven't heard. And I don't want to be the person you channel all your hope towards! Stop expecting things of me- honestly, why would you? I make a point to never deliver."

Lily pursed her lips, "I'm going to pretend you didn't just have a tantrum," she said evenly, "and ask you- _calmly_- what Lee said, what _you_ said, which made you think she'd come back?"

I thought about it, and was faced with a sudden, terrible realisation, "nothing." I whispered, and then, more forcefully, "_nothing_, alright? I guess I just thought that, because I'd come to get her….."

Lily's laugh was cruel, and full of disappointment, "of course," she said tiredly, "you just figured that after everything you've done to her, if you batted your eyelashes, she'd come running. God, your ego is unbelievable."

I could feel my jaw tightening, "no, look here, Evans, it was way more than that. See she.."

"I don't care," Lily said firmly, "you are so right- you never _do_ deliver on your promises. You're a friend when it's convenient or when it primps your ego. You're nice when there's somebody there to compliment you. You make me sick!"

"Lily?" James called sleepily from her room, "who're you shouting at…?"

I left.

With no actual destination in mind, I powered along to corridors, needing somebody to shout at, somebody to complain to….

Where was Remus?

I burst into the Gryffindor common room, standing tall and crying, "Moony! Where the bloody hell are you?"

"Sirius?"

Turning eagerly, I saw- to my disappointment- Peter, crouched on the floor, surrounded by notes. I sighed, "Wormtail- where's Remus?"

He pointed to the armchair closest to him. Frowning, I stepped closer. And smiled. Remus was asleep on a pile of Peter's notes, his wand loosely clutched in his hand, his mouth open. I won't lie for his sake, Estelle, there was drool on that parchment.

"He's tired- we've been up all night," Peter said, "and I _still_ can't do this spell!"

Immediately, my brain kicked into overdrive, searching for an excuse, a reason to ignore the implied request, a reason why I couldn't help him study.

And then, of course, I heard Lily's words in my mind…

_You're a friend when it's convenient or when it primps your ego. You're nice when there's somebody there to compliment you_

"Do I make you sick, Peter?" I asked quickly. He shook his head vigorously, "I know I'm not the best friend in the world….."

"You're _my_ friend." Peter interrupted- the first time I'd ever known him to do such a thing. His eyes gleamed almost fanatically, and he continued with his nodding.

I tried not to be put off. Pasting a smile on my face, I dropped to a crouch beside him, noticing with a grimace that his hair was oily, and there was a sheen of sweat across his forehead. I always hated things which weren't beautiful- I truly didn't feel they were worth my time, "right," I said, "let's have a look at this spell."

It was an attack spell. He was preparing it for the section of a practical exam where you are expected to demonstrate your proficiency at defending yourself, with a series of spells of your own choice. He'd chosen a difficult one, designed to impress, which caused temporary insanity in the victim by plaguing them with nightmares.

"This is a hard one," I told him honestly, "it's beyond you- can I make a suggestion?" Through his furious blush of humiliation, Peter nodded, "why not try this one? It's simple, and easy to remember- you can use it to cause distractions and to destroy any obstacles in your path in an escape- it has 100 different uses."

He frowned, peering at the spell, and then grinned, "and it would kill people, too?" I raised an eyebrow, and he clapped clammy hands together, "if you directed it at somebody's face….."

"Why would you do that?" I asked, seriously confused, "when you could use it to leave, why would you kill people?"

His smile was manic, "to _live_," he said, "to be the strong one! To survive!"

I cleared my throat awkwardly, and then laughed, patting him on the back, "yeah, Peter, sounds great. Let's get to it! I'll have you an expert in this spell in no time…."

And I did, too. We both bent down and concentrated. We didn't rest til the next morning, by which stage Peter had mastered the spell completely, and was proudly showing a still sleepy Remus his new skills.

And I was proud of myself, for sacrificing my time and beauty sleep to do a selfless thing. Remus gave me a grin like a was a good person, and Peter hero-worshipped me. What fun.

I went to bed that morning with a sense of accomplishment, and no idea of the damage I'd caused.

No idea of the implications of teaching Peter a spell which, when used correctly, could blast an entire street to smithereens, killing any muggles in the vicinity.

Teaching him a spell which would seal my fate, not five years later.

A spell which would see me labelled a murderer.


	31. Chapter 31

Just thanking everybody who has been reviewing me again! you're all lovely- keep it up, please! :)

there's not too much more to go now- we're very close to the end of this story

I saw Harry today, Estelle.

I know it is school term- I should really _not_ have seen him, and my first words upon seeing him should really _not_ have been, "what's wrong?".

A true father figure would have said, "what on earth do you think you are doing?"

But I suppose I have never truly counted myself as a father figure- far too old and stuffy. And children are so tiresome- I cannot think why I would ever want to be a father figure to anybody.

Having written that sentence, I now wish I could unwrite it. How could I be such a fool as to say that to _you_!

Of course I want to be _your_ father figure, Estelle! It is only that I feel I have lost so much of my life, I am still that young man, wrapped in chains, with the sight of his best friend's charred face burned into his eyelids as he is dragged away to Azkaban.

And that man was not yet a father. Not even close. So of course I sometimes find it hard to reconcile myself with the idea that I am actually, well, myself.

But you know this- and this whole manuscript (quite the longest thing I have ever written) is testament to the fact that I truly want to be close to you.

So I shall speak to you of Harry.

He is lost.

I have rarely seen him so upset- so angry. And to think that he was so very shaken by a glimpse of what I have been so fondly reminiscing about- James and my school life.

He saw a memory- a memory I have not shared with you, mostly because it meant so little to me then, and indeed means not much more to me now.

I suppose I should give you a recap-

I was bored, so James tormented Snape briefly while I watched, amused. Remus didn't stop it, and Peter was just about wetting himself with excitement, I remember. And I? I was amused. That was, after all, the aim of the game. To amuse me, and to show off for Lily.

I'm trying to remember- I think we may have been dating at that stage, or was that later… I'm not quite sure.

In any case, Harry is traumatised, and it saddens me that the one time he has now seen his father is while he was being an idiot. We had to reassure Harry, Remus and I, that James was a good person, deserving of admiration and more. I had never pictured having to beg Harry to believe that James was a wonderful man. I thought everybody knew that without any questions asked.

It did get me thinking about Snape, though.

What he did after school finished- I never really saw him in battle, although I know that _she_ did. I remember her coming inside, face drawn and tired, hair in ratty snares.

"You're late." I'd said tersely, being in a terrible mood with her because of some slight, or comment which had exploded into a fight.

But more than that, because she'd left without making up with me- and that was inexcusable, in times such as those.

If something had happened…. But then, she always seemed to consider herself immortal, and from they way she fought, perhaps she was.

"And so?" she'd replied, collapsing onto a couch, "I'm home."

True enough, and almost enough to calm my nerves. I leaned forwards, and asked her how it had gone, who she'd fought, if it were successful. She refused to answer me, picking up a magazine and flicking through it, though her hands were shaking.

"Hey, tell me." I'd insisted, just as Lily had walked into the room.

She'd smiled at the two of us, glad to see _her_ safely returned, and _she'd_ smiled tightly and answered my question with a simple, "just some old people from school. Nothing you didn't know."

Lily was oblivious, but after she'd left, I'd longed to discuss it in greater detail. She had not wanted to. I didn't know what happened until later, when I heard from Frank that they'd intercepted a group of death eaters who'd been involved in an attempt to infiltrate the muggle government. It had been a fierce fight, dominated by _her_ and a masked death eater, who'd been fast and vicious.

And then she'd tripped. Such a small thing, so insignificant. An uneven paver, and it almost killed her. I still feel my fists clench at the thought of that. I can see her in my mind, just as I could then, when Frank's eyes stared blankly up at me, traumatised.

She'd shot a curse at the death eater, and he'd replied in kind. And then Frank had been hit with a stunning spell, weak though it was. So she'd leapt in and shielded him- too late. And as she'd dived, her foot caught on that stupid paver, and she'd fallen to her knee. A second off your guard is all it takes, and she was instantly borne down on by her opponent, who hit her with an unforgivable curse- cruciatus, Frank tells me. So she'd stayed down, with curses raining around her, and Frank struggling to rejoin the fight by her side, when the death eater raised his wand for the final curse…..

"Avada," Frank told me, "he'd actually started to say it- Avada.. I remember thinking, 'she's done for'."

But she wasn't, because the death eater leading the fight and called it to a halt, reprimanding her would-be-killer with a single word.

"Dumont." Frank had whispered, "he shouted just that- but like he was in charge. You could just see her face fall- she couldn't believe it."

I was enraged by this stage. She had not mentioned anything like this to me, anything about almost dying, anything about pain. She'd just come home, snapped at me for a while, then fallen into my arms, curled on my lap and slept.

I leaned forwards, resting my elbows on my knees and staring at my clenched fists, "couldn't believe Dumont would kill her?"

Frank had shook his head slowly, looking as lost as I did, "couldn't believe Snape would stop him." He'd sighed, leaning back into the couch and closing his eyes, "how are we supposed to fight these people?" he muttered, "we watched them grow up- watched their lives begin…. How are we supposed to end those lives and still stay _sane_?"

I looked away, remembering all the times I'd taunted Snape, mocked him, bullied him. He knew I loved _her_. He knew what she was to me- how had he managed to find mercy for her in his heart, when he couldn't find it for all the muggleborns who'd never done him harm?

What was he thinking?

And what was I thinking? On James' request (on Lily's behalf) I had backed off of Snape a little when we reached 7th year. If I had not, if I had humiliated him even once more, would he still have shown mercy? Or instead of being asleep in our bed, clutching a pillow like a child with a doll, too tired to even dream, would _she_ be lying on the cold floor of some abandoned street, eyes staring sightlessly at the stars she loved so much?

How long before I would have found out? Frank had said she'd saved him, jumping up and rejoining the fight as soon as she could. If Snape had let her die, Frank would be dead, too. Probably the others as well. How long before Alice and I had known? Would we be with the search party which found them?

Would I have picked her cold body up off the floor?

I shook those thoughts out of my head, and turned my mind to Frank's question, "how do we stay sane, Frank?" I asked harshly, "I think old Snivellus is wondering the same thing- but the answer is clear to me." He waited with expectant eyes. I clenched my fists and stared angrily out of the window, lost, "we don't."

…..

"Sirius Black," Professor Dumbledore announced happily, taking my hand warmly as my fellow 7th years applauded dutifully, "graduates with honours, achieving five 'Outstandings', most notably receiving an honourable mention by examiners in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

I could hear James whistle enthusiastically from the back of the line, waiting to receive his own congratulations. I shot what I felt was a dashing grin at my audience. Almost everybody was clapping more enthusiastically, now. Obviously, there were a few exceptions, but nothing overly noticeable. I was content in my fawning fans.

"If only," Dumbledore murmured, "they gave grades for troublemaking. I do feel, Mr Black, that if that were the case, we would have boasted a true prodigy in you."

I grinned at him, "oh, Professor," I said, "surely I am prodigy enough?"

He laughed and clapped me on the back, "go down to the boats, Mr Black. No doubt we will speak again."

It was a part of the graduation ceremony that the 7th years would cross the lake in the very boats which brought them to Hogwarts all those years before. It was most symbolic. And uncomfortable. My boat was leaking, and as I took my place near the head of the fleet (alphabetically, I do generally win), beside…

"Hey, you," I grinned at Ellen Bones, "long time no see."

She rolled her eyes, "you realise that we're in the same classes, don't you?"

We were? Alright. I winked, "of course. I was being ironic. I hear you did quite well this year?"

She nodded, "yeah, but Sirius, we aren't actually supposed to talk during this ceremony." I shrugged, "plus Annika won't be happy that you're flirting with me."

I raised an eyebrow, "Ellen, Annika promised to accept all my flaws. She knows full well that I am physically incapable of talking to pretty girls without flirting a little bit."

Ellen threw back her head and laughed, "whatever. She'd skin you alive if she saw you now." She shot me an unusually astute look, considering I'd always thought she was a little lacking in the brains department, "what's going on with you? You haven't really flirted with anybody in ages. Are you getting bored of Annika?"

It was a reasonable question. Which I didn't intend to answer. In fact, I had already turned away, searching the rows of guests for familiar faces.

Mrs Potter waved at me from the front row- a place secured for her on the basis that her son was head boy. I smiled fondly, giving her a salute. She'd gotten so much better since James' father's death- she smiled more now, and laughed sometimes. And she was proud as punch of James.

I looked at the row behind her- nothing

And behind that- nothing.

And behind that-

"Who are you looking for?" Ellen asked quietly, "I mean- did your parents come?"

I snorted, "I doubt it," I said honestly, then considered, "they're more likely to travel down here for a cup of tea with the giant squid than for my graduation."

"So who are you looking for?"

"Nobody!" I snapped defensively, "I mean, who would I be looking for?"

She shrugged, "I don't know. I just saw you were looking for somebody."

"Really?" I frowned, considering that, "that's odd." But it did seem weirdly incomplete- the ceremony, I mean. There was a palatable, but unknowable something missing. It unnerved me. And then I was distracted by the sudden appearance of Lupin at a boat not far behind me. I waved happily at him, and he waved happily back. So he should, what with all Outstanding grades!

He seemed to catch that thought, because he rolled his eyes and climbed into the boat beside Xeno Lovegood, whom he smiled at kindly, as though it were perfectly normal for the boy to be flapping a twig with bottle caps attached to it around.

I turned away from them and back to the crowd.

"See, you're still looking!" Ellen's voice cut in, "you don't even realise you're doing it."

I snarled under my breath and turned to face her, "look, I…"

"Those are my parents," she said, waving at a pleasant looking couple to the front, "and that's my brother, Edgar, and that's my big sister, Amelia."

I gave her a cursory glance. She was pretty enough, with brown hair and dark blue eyes… not bad. But she _did_ look very serious…

"Back off, Black," Ellen laughed, "she's not the type to fall for your nonsense. She's interning at the ministry- going to be important. She doesn't go for rakes."

"Yeah, unlike her baby sister," I said, smiling.

She slapped my lightly across the head, "now, you!" she sighed, "you really must be having issues with Annika or something, because we haven't seen this side of you in a while."

I frowned, confused, "no. Everything with Annika is fine, thanks. Didn't I already say….?"

Her shrug was annoyingly doubtful, "okaay…" she dragged it out, "if you say so."

"James Potter, graduating with all Outstanding results…" Ellen turned to the front, watching her Head Boy graduate under a rain of positive regard. She smiled happily, clapping her hands together and cheering along with the others.

I wasn't watching that- I watched Remus because this was important to him, but James wasn't the same. He didn't mind- just shot me a grin as he leapt into the boat beside Gideon Prewett.

I almost felt rebuffed, until I heard my pocket mutter at me, "man, this is boring, Padfoot. Entertain me."

I pulled out my mirror with a grin, "you've not been sitting down for 10seconds, and you're bored?"

"Yup." His eyes twinkled mischievously, and he looked quickly away, "Lily looks gorgeous, eh?"

"You think I've been looking at your girl?" I asked, bemused.

He shrugged, "well, she's female. So, yes."

I laughed, "no point in denying it, then. Yup. She looks lovely. Very…." I struggled to find adjectives, "clean cut. No- wholesome! She's the sexy, yet upstanding and well behaved girl-next-door. She is the equivalent of a muggle head-cheerleader. And I hope, for your sake, she is just as flexible." James laughed at me.

"Oi, who are you looking for?"

I started, "sorry?"

James sighed, "in the audience- who were you looking for?"

What? I was annoyed, "why does everybody think I was looking for something?"

"Someone." James corrected, "some_one_."

I laughed, "no, some_thing_. Definitely."

James grinned, "yup. Like…. Your motorbike. Or even a car… Or some kind of alcohol?"

"No doubt."

He was still laughing, "you're staring out at the crowd, _hoping_ against hope, that your heart's desire is seated in row B, seat 5…."

Now it was my turn to laugh, "yeah, because that's the place she'd be- row B, seat 5. I couldn't get it a better seat."

James' laughter stopped, "what?"

I blinked, "my heart's desire," I explained, "I was just- you know, continuing your joke…." I was seriously at a loss- James and I never had to explain ourselves to each other, especially not our jokes. Those we understood without any effort.

But not now, apparently. James scratched his head, "so why'd you say 'her'?"

Now I blinked, "sorry?"

"You said, 'that's where _she'd_ be sitting' or something like that. _She_."

I considered, "did I? I don't think I did. Maybe it just sounded like I said that."

He shrugged, unconcerned, "whatever. Hey, did you see mum's face?"

I smiled indulgently, "yes, indeed. She was almost sickeningly proud of you."

"Are you?"

"Sorry?" I turned my gaze away from the crowd and back to the mirror. _Was_ I looking for somebody?

"Are you proud of me?" James asked, and I could sense a little bit of sincerity behind the joke. I smiled lightly.

"Really proud, Prongs. You're like proof that monkeys can excel when they try hard enough- you are an inspirational success story!" and then my smile broadened, and I said, allowing a modicum of actual pride to seep into my voice, "I'm very proud, James, very proud indeed. But really, I knew you'd do it anyway."

"Obviously," James agreed, but he was grinning, and then the grin became more of a grudging smile, "oi, she's here, by the way."

I frowned, "who?"

"Who you're looking for- hoping for. She's here." He bit his lip, "I want you to know that I don't judge you- I understand…. Sort of. I'm glad she came. For _you_."

I felt my heart skip a beat, which rather indicated that I _was_ looking for somebody. I was excited, despite myself, and my gaze wrenched back to the crowd, searching it for that elusive face, the one I wanted to see…..

"At the back," James said quietly, "I don't think she wants anyone to know that she's here. I wasn't even sure I was going to tell you, but you deserve to know."

I knew it. She was here. To see _me_. Her tyrannical father could hardly stand in our way- she knew I needed her and so she had come. As the thought crossed my mind- I finally realised who I was looking for. I felt my heart bursting inside me- had I truly missed Lee so much? I must have. I must have longed for her without knowing it. Everybody else had seen it, though- even Macgonnnagal, which was really a bit of a worry.

"Sirius? Sirius- there. At the back." James directed me, and I looked, searching until my eyes locked with another pair- elegantly shaped, fringed with thick black lashes. Set into an oval face, with high cheekbones and strong, proud features. A strong face, but beautiful still, even into its forties. Beautiful, but carefully blank, blank as a stone. She'd practiced to make it that blank. The only part of it that revealed any expression were those eyes. Brimming with intensity, full of unreadable emotion.

Grey as my own.

"Mother?" I whispered, feeling disappointment and uncertainty swoop through me together in a dizzying rush.

"Congratulations, graduates!" somebody called, and then the boats were moving.

"Mother?" I called again, completely shaken by the sight of her face- for the first time in over two years. But the boats glided further and further away, until those gleaming eyes were obscured from my line of vision.

She was gone. And _Lee_ was never even there. She'd not cared enough to come back. My efforts were in vain- she had given up.

"Black?" I heard Ellen ask, "Sirius, why are you crying?"

I shook my head, dashing the few tears that had fallen off of my cheeks, "no reason. Wait- two things."

"Yeah?" she sidled in close. So much for not flirting.

"First," I said, trying to control the tremor in my voice as I saw my mother's face dance before my eyes again, "I saw a ghost." Ellen gasped, and I smiled bitterly, burying my hurt beneath a layer of callousness, "and second- I realised that somebody I cared about…. Somebody I _loved_- is gone."

Ellen was confused enough to ignore my comment, but I preferred not to have her naïve input in any case. I'd never told _her_ that I loved her, I didn't think. Not my mother, either. Or James. Or Remus. Or Reg. Or Peter. What was wrong with me? Around me, people cheered happily, while I pondered the depth of my screwed-up-ness.

"We're finished here, Sirius!" Ellen squealed, hugging me, "finished! Finished! Finished!"

I smiled tiredly, looking over my shoulder at the bright lights of Hogwarts, glimmering on the hillside. For so long, it'd been the one place I was truly happy- far from my family's expectations, my own repressed jealousy of James' family. It was a place where I ruled, certain of my own worth and import- a place where everything made sense. My _home_. All that was changing now.

"Yeah, Ellen," I sighed, running a hand through my hair, "I'm sort of getting that impression."

….

Do you know, Estelle, even after that revelation about my inability to open up to people, I still failed to tell James how much he meant to me?

I mean, how is that possible? How could I have realised my own shortcomings, been aware of them, and done _nothing_ whatsoever to change them?

Did I ever tell you of when Molly met your mother? They'd seen each other around, of course, though never been introduced. And when I pulled her by the hand to that fateful meeting, she was laughing about seeing so many half-remembered faces.

I thought everybody would love her, but when Molly opened the door, her expression was one of distaste. By my side, _she_ smiled broadly, as ever feeling oddly elated by the challenge of somebody who disapproved of her.

"How wonderful to see you again!" she laughed, throwing herself at Molly and kissing her on both cheeks. I'd smiled reservedly as Molly turned pink with discomfort.

And then _she'd_ laughed again and glided past Molly, into the room. From the doorway, I'd seen her- she'd not waited to be introduced, or anything so conventional. Rather, she'd spread her arms wide, laughed once more, and said, "I am back. Did you miss me?"

Kingsley, I remember, almost choked on the tea he'd been drinking.

Arthur, though never having known her, was infected by her exuberance, and was possibly the most enthusiastic, jumping up and pumping her hand in a long handshake, laughing along with her.

And Molly had stood in the doorway, still pink in the face, looking very endearing, and pregnant out to….. well, very pregnant in any case. She never liked _her_, never approved of _her_, or of the way I felt about her, and I saw that from the first.

"How immature," she'd muttered, watching _her_ charm every person present, "Sirius, you can't be…."

"Sirius?" I suggested, and she frowned, "yes, Molly, I am _serious_."

"But why? I mean, there are so many lovely girls who'd just _die_ to be with you? Why this one? I mean, it is just a fling, I'm sure, but nonetheless…." I did not answer her, instead watching _her_ dance around the room, bringing light to my world, "it _is_ just a fling, Sirius?"

"What do you mean?"

Molly had pursed her lips, and made to reply, probably in no uncertain terms, but little Bill had toddled over to me, and she'd been forced to curb her tongue.

"Are you jealous, Molly?" I'd quipped, ruffling Bill's flaming hair, "I know we had a little thing back in school."

"Oh, Sirius!" she'd sighed, exasperated, "you have to stop saying that! You have Arthur all in a bother- he's not sure if it's true or not."

I grinned, picking Bill up and blew a raspberry on his stomach, grinning evilly at Molly over his shoulder.

"Sort of how you're all jealous of Arthur and her?" I asked, inclining my head to where _she_ was chatting happily with Molly's husband, "you know she's just being funny, don't you?"

"She's _loose_!" Molly insisted.

I grinned, "so sort of like me, then?"

"Oh! Honestly. She's so clearly a…" I waited with a wide smile, curious as to which word Molly would resort to, with her big-eared little son so close. Eventually, she closed her mouth tightly and muttered, "trollop."

"Oh, now Molly," I tutted, shaking my head, "you've said that in front of bug-a-lugs here- we'll never hear the end of it. I popped him on the ground, and giggling, he tottered off, calling happily, "trollop! Troll…oppppp!"

Molly rolled her eyes, "Merlin's Beard," she snapped, as Bill made his happy progress through the meeting, shocking everybody he passed with the latest addition to his budding vocabulary, "this is your fault." I did not deny it, which was good, because Molly was not quite finished yet, "so, it isn't too serious between you, is it?"

I sighed, "Molly, what are you asking me?"

"How do you feel about her?"

I considered, watching her smile, her laugh, her grace, "she is…"

And then she sighed, picking Bill up and swinging him around, "you are absolutely right!" she laughed, "I _am_ a trollop!"

I laughed, "she's a trollop, _obviously_- self confessed and everything."

Molly did not look amused, "can you ever be serious… no! Don't make a joke. I was asking you if you loved her?"

I froze, like a rabbit in the headlights. Caught in the same old trap as always- my feelings. "That's not really your business." I told her firmly, "I'm going to go say hi to everybody else."

And there you have it- another fine moment in the life of your father. I had in fact forgotten about that- reminded only by another memory. And so it goes- jumping from memory to memory, deeper and deeper into the dark recesses of my mind. Like skipping stones in a cave.

I had forgotten, for instance, how little Molly liked _her_. Everybody liked her- why didn't Molly? It wasn't jealousy, though that is what I was fond of implying. Nor did _she_ ever do anything to challenge or annoy Molly.

The thought niggled at me for an undefinable period of time. Eventually, I could stand it no longer, and swept down the stairs, my fingers tracing the banisters I would slide down as a child. Molly was in the kitchen, of course. Cleaning, because the resident house elf was incapable. As a side note, Estelle, would you believe he's disappeared again? I would swear I know every inch of this house, and yet I cannot see him anywhere. I sat on the stairs for a while, watching Molly bustle through the kitchen door directly in front of me. After such a vivid trip down memory lane, I could scarcely believe I knew the plump, dumpy woman before me. But I did. Somewhere, buried under the unfashionable robes, under the chubbiness, was neat, pretty Molly Prewett, with the smallest waist in the school, and a laugh which made men go weak at the knees.

Somewhere in there was the girl I'd flirted with. The girl with the 'killer legs'- too cool for anybody to go near- the older girl, the unattainable one. The one we all fantasised about.

Surely she was in there somewhere? But then _she_ is gone- perhaps Molly Prewett is, too.

The thought terrified me into action.

"Why didn't you like her?" I asked, and Molly jumped, dropping the plate she'd been cleaning.

"Sirius!" she gasped, "you came down. We didn't think you would," and then the mother goose in her awoke with a vengeance, and her eyes gleamed, "eat something." She ordered, gesturing to the remains of a sumptuous meal on the table before her.

"I'm not hungry." I dismissed her mothering with a wave of my hand, "why didn't you like her?"

She knew whom I was talking about. With a sigh, she sat down on one of the austere chairs which surrounded my old kitchen table.

"Oh, Sirius," she sighed again, "I did like her…"

"You didn't act like it, Molly," I snapped, "you were cruel to her."

She frowned, "I never was- and besides, it wasn't as though she cared, was it? She didn't care what anybody thought. Least of all me."

"But why didn't you like her?" I demanded again.

"Because I felt _threatened _by her." Molly snapped finally, "she was.." she put her head in her hands, "oh- she was so much like _I_ used to be! So pretty and lively. And _charming_- the centre of attention. Always! I used to be like that, remember?"

I nodded, "I remember- I was just thinking about it."

"I was just like her! And when I saw her- it was like seeing a ghost. And I was feeling so awful- pregnant, do you remember? And with two children already… I'd already lost my figure, my looks. But I was still so young…"

"You never lost your looks," I told her honestly, "looking at you always made me grin."

She smiled, and I saw that there were tears in her eyes, "I always felt so _awful_ for being less than nice to her, you know. But every time I saw her, I thought of what I'd missed when I started my family so soon." Hurriedly, she amended, "not that I regret it! How could I? With such wonderful children, such a wonderful husband." She sighed, "but I lost my youth to gain them. And I can't pretend I didn't miss it sometimes."

I nodded, processing this, "it's true that she didn't care if you didn't like her," I told Molly, "but _she_ liked you anyway."

Molly nodded, now, "I didn't think you loved her." she told me now, "you never said it- you were always so flippant. I thought you loved- I thought you loved Bellatrix."

I shook my head, my jaw clenched, "no. No, I didn't love Bella. She was my cousin. I didn't- I couldn't ever have-"

"I see that now," Molly said, "though I never did before." She looked infinitely wise as she met my gaze, "you've been so different, Sirius," she said, "from how I remembered you. And it scared me. I thought it was Azkaban- I suppose it was, mostly. But you miss her, don't you?"

I nodded, "always. Always and forever."

"I remember your face, when she left. I hated her for that." Molly sounded angry.

"No, she did the right thing," I told her, "I don't blame her at all for that. She was right to take Estelle away- though I can't imagine how different things would have been, had she stayed."

Molly looked quite as sad and lost as I felt, Estelle, as we spoke of you. But she smiled a little later and said, "I'll admit- I asked Fred if he knew her- I said she was the daughter of a friend," her smile dampened a little, "he said she was pretty, like a little doll, and that all the boys watch her when she goes by, but he doesn't know her. Isn't that odd- after all we've been through? I always thought our children would play together one day. Yours, mine, James and Lily's. All play together."

"Ron and Harry are close," I reminded her, trying to bring back that smile. But inside I felt unhappy. Why did you not know them, Estelle? They are such good kids- how can you not know them? But for a twist of fate, you'd have been raised by your mother, with Lily as an ever present aunt, and I've no doubt that Molly would have softened over your little baby laughs. Perhaps even befriended your mother. You, Harry and Ron and Ginny would all have been of a similar age- you'd have been closer than blood siblings, because you would have chosen each other, I know it.

And without putting too fine a point on it, James and I would have fully expected you and Harry to end up together. Obviously after seeing other people, but ultimately, you'd be together. And have grandchildren for James and I to share.

You'd have had no choice in the matter. None whatsoever.

I think Harry probably will like you anyway, seeing as how everybody says how pretty you are- like your mother. I knew you would be, anyway. Pretty and clever. Perfect for Harry. And my curiosity in you has piqued his, I believe. I worry that he has somehow found out about you. He is clever like that.

It is of little matter, Estelle. I should tell you that I left Molly some hours ago and retreated to my room. She says that she never sees me anymore- that I am as thin as I was when I arrived because I have been neglecting to eat. She does not realise that I have far more important things to tend to.

I must write, Estelle. These words to you feed me. They heal my soul, and let me drift back into the past- to feel that hand stroking my back, to hear that breathy laugh in my ear. That hair running through my hands- those lips on mine….

Oh, I miss her, Estelle- like a pain in my side, I feel it always. Molly was right. When I first escaped, I banished her from my head- I thought of revenge- of Peter Pettigrew and his traitorous actions. Pain unacknowledged is easier to bear, I think. An emptiness which can be buried. But when it is acknowledged- when you cede to that yearning, then it becomes fiercely unbearable.

Like now.

I would give anything to see her smile again. And yet, I know I won't.

If only I could bury this pain again…. But no, that would be worse. For with the pain come the memories, and I can bear a hundred times this pain if it brings with it ghosts of her face..


	32. Chapter 32

**next chapter should be the last installment in this story- i have an idea of what's going to happen, but if you have any requests, now is the time to voice them. you're reading this, so you definitely have the right to ask for stuff.**

**review :) thanks, guys.**

How to describe to you, Estelle, a life free of school?

No more lectures, no more teachers. No more set lunch times. No more detentions.

No more happy ignorance. No more obliviousness to our world's plight. No more innocence. No more reasons to sit back from the fight.

All at once I was thrown into a dark, confusing pit, in which the sun was a mere pinprick in the distance, and the walls were too high to scramble out of. Our world was in disarray, in conflict, and there was no way for us to ignore it.

I began to hold my wand in my hand as I walked down the street. As the killings and disappearances increased, as more and more so called 'blood traitors' and muggle-borns disappeared, we began to only go out in pairs.

And yet we had no idea of what we were doing. What we were up against.

Picture a war, if you will, Estelle, where the enemy is made up of your neighbours and your classmates and your family. Picture a war which plays up to old prejudices, which causes rifts in friendships and families. Picture a war where the enemy grows more and more each day.

Picture a sector of the population being systematically exterminated, while some try to fight, and others sit back and watch, secretly in agreement.

You might meet an old classmate in a supermarket, and chat for a little while about old times.. only to read in the paper the very next day that they'd tortured some little muggle child into insanity. You might go to dinner at your aunt's house to find them speaking of how 'perhaps this is the right way to do things'. You might go and knock on your neighbours' door one day only to find their family all dead in the kitchen.

You might not even have known they were muggle born.

It was a turbulent and uncertain time. I pray it never occurs again. And yet, here we are standing on the brink of it.

The hardest part was doing nothing. For what could we do? There was no army, no force which could simply patrol the streets seeking out death eaters. Civilians could only stand by and watch their lives fall into disarray.

I truly remember that uncertainty as being infinitely harder to bear than the fighting. And now, of course, that inability to act is intensified for me. I sit at home every day, writing and wondering if my friends will come home…

But I digress.

It wasn't long after I'd graduated, I don't think, that Dumbledore approached me. I don't remember the day, or the circumstances, to be frank. What I do remember is that I was- at the time- writing a letter to Annika, still in school and _'missing me terribly'_.

I was finding long distance relationships surprisingly easier than I'd thought. Really, they seemed much simpler than ordinary relationships- I never had to listen to Annika complain. Because I wasn't there, she couldn't whinge about the way I spent more time with her friends than with her- it was wondrous.

In any case, half way through my penning a long and charming letter to my erstwhile girlfriend, there was a knock at my door. I opened it with a flick of my wand- typically incautious and idiotic, without having considered who it might be, or whether my guest even knew about magic.

How much of a surprise for poor old Mrs Helowitz next door, to see 'sveet leetle Meester Black' sitting at a desk, writing with a quill, and waving around a stick.

But it was not Mrs Helowitz.

It was Kingsley Shaklebolt.

Now, despite attending the same classes at the Auror's Academy, Kingsley and I were not friends as such. And so, it was reasonably surprising to see him loitering in my hallway with a sheepish smile on his face.

"Hi, Sirius," he said, quite visibly restraining himself from scolding me for my lack of security measures, "how are you going?"

I shrugged, leaning back and grinning at him, "just dandy, Kingsley," I answered wryly, "and yourself?"

He shrugged back at me, "I'm not dead yet," he said plainly, and I nodded. It was rather awkward, he was still standing on the threshold of my apartment, as though unsure of whether he could come in or not. I hadn't invited him- and I wasn't going to. It was much more fun to watch him squirm, watch his desire to be polite war with his need to speak privately.

"What brings you around my neck of the woods?" I asked amiably, at the same time as he smiled wistfully and said, "I haven't been here since Lee was around."

I hadn't known that Lee had had him over, and said as much.

He had the good grace to look abashed, but I smiled at him and assured him that it didn't worry me, "she got around," I pointed out.

Kingsley looked disapproving, "she said about the same of you."

I didn't bother trying to care about that. Instead, I sighed, got lazily to my feet and wandered over to the liquor cabinet, "of course she did." I said Boredly, pouring myself a glass of firewhiskey.

"She also said you were a tosser," Kingsley continued, I nodded thoughtfully, "and an idiot." I waved my hand, as though to say 'speak on!', "and she said that you sucked at saying how you felt about people- and you'd only ever say nice things if you thought it would get you somewhere."

"All true, though undeniably mean things to say, and odd things to confide in somebody she only kept around for sex" I said snootily, eyeing him over the rim of my glass. I remember, Estelle, admiring the play of colours as light was refracted through the glass. I also remember Kingsley looking less than impressed.

He soon recovered enough to scoff and say, "well you'd know all about being Lee's booty call, wouldn't you?"

I blinked slowly at him, raising the glass to my lips again, "so, you came here because..?" That was when Kingsley's demeanour changed. Suddenly, he looked rather sheepish and embarrassed, and he shot a glance down the hall. I sighed tiredly, "looking for your entourage, Shacklebolt?"

"In fact, he is." Came a voice from Kingsley's left. I recognised it immediately, and laughed out loud.

"Minerva, you old warhorse," I barked happily, "where the devil are you?"

She appeared at Kingsley's side, "Minerva?" she asked, sounding rather annoyed, "since when have we been so informal, Mr Black?"

I chuckled happily and lifted my glass to my lips for another sip, "what, will you give me detention?"

She rolled her eyes, "I may, Mr Black, especially if you insist on drinking that _vile_ concoction so early in the day." I shrugged, bemused, she pursed her lips, "and I see your manners have hardly improved with age. Would you be so kind as to remove this infernal barrier from your doorway? I object to conversing through a spell wall."

And so you see, Estelle, that I was not entirely defenceless.

I grinned, "wonderful little spell, that," I said, motioning at said doorway, "there's a simple way to get around it- can you figure it out?"

Her nostrils flared. But it took her only a second to work out my puzzle, "may we _please_ come in, Mr Black?" she asked sarcastically.

"But of course!" I announced with a flourishing bow, "my home is your home."

Despite our earlier spat, Kingsley looked impressed, "that's a neat little charm," he said admiringly, "I wouldn't have expected it from you."

I frowned, and Minerva looked similarly sceptical, "honestly, Kingsley, she said plainly, "Alastor tells me that he is topping most of his classes."

"I said he _would_ be topping his classes," came a gruff voice from the hallway, quickly followed by the clomping entry of a rather intimidating looking individual, "if he would get his head out of his arse and study for once."

I gaped as my least favourite lecturer entered my apartment. Before me were now the representatives of my education. Now all I needed was my mother to enter, and I'd have a real cross section of my learning journey, from the day I was first taught to order around staff, to my last lecture at the academy.

But my mother wasn't there, leaving me to consider a much likelier, but much more disturbing option, "is this an intervention?" I asked guardedly.

Professor Moody laughed and sat himself down in my old chair, "what a supreme waste of time _that _ would be." He scoffed.

Minerva was more dignified, although rather confused, "you didn't seem worried before Alastor's entry, Mr Black," she pointed out, "what did you think this was before he came in?"

I considered, and shrugged charmingly, "a social visit?"

"This is a recruitment," Moody corrected rather bluntly, "for a resistance force. Against the Death Eaters."

I blinked, rather taken aback by the bluntness of his statement, "oh?"

That was about all I could muster under the circumstances. Nobody looked particularly impressed by my effort.

No matter, Moody powered on without me, "Minerva and I are here as representatives. Usually only one member of the Order would come, but as you are so closely connected with several prominent death eaters…"

I winced, closing my eyes, "my esteemed cousins." I said bitterly, "and you thought they'd be hiding under my sink, waiting on the off chance that an old professor and a single auror to visit me and attempt to recruit me for an army?"

Kingsley seemed a little put out by this, "I'm here, too."

"Why are you here?" I asked, trying not to sound rude (and failing).

He didn't look particularly sure, "I knew where you lived," he said, "and I'm your age, and somebody you know- I even up the situation."

I nodded, bored again. The surreal nature of the situation, combined with more than a little firewhiskey, had left me utterly at a loss. I couldn't accept the situation I was in, and therefore, I couldn't react.

It was Minerva who saved the situation, "we're sending members to speak to James," she said calmly, "and to Remus."

I nodded, suddenly back to myself. They were asking James? After his father's death, he would of course do anything to prevent the death eaters' rise. And he was so reckless when he was feeling righteous. And Remus? He was so desperate to prove he wasn't a monster, he'd throw himself into all sorts of situations. And if James was joining, then Lily was joining, and for some reason, I felt the urge to protect Lily, though she was probably more proficient at casting spells than myself.

'Right. I'm in." I said quickly.

Minerva blinked slowly, "you don't want to think about that a little more closely?" she said sternly, "this isn't a club that you can quit when you get bored- this is a commitment- it lasts as long as this war goes on. Longer, maybe. Who knows how this will all play out?"

"You might leave," Moody said, banging a fist on the table, "you might run and hide with your tail between your legs. But you'd have been marked already as a comrade of ours and an enemy of theirs, and they'd hunt you down and kill you."

"I'm not an idiot." I said, "and I'm not a coward. What they're doing is wrong, and I know that." I paused, and then decided the situation called for complete honesty, "besides, I know my friends and they'll join in a second."

"This isn't a popularity contest, Black." Moody snapped, "this isn't a little fad for you to follow, like kayaking or some sort of..," he seemed to struggle to find words deprecating enough to suit the situation, ".. musical appreciation society to join because your friends are involved…."

"Let me bloody finish- would you?" I asked, annoyed. There was a moment of silence, and I looked around at this odd mix of people, cluttering up my kitchen. It was odd to think whom the war had brought together. There was straight backed Professor Macgonnagal, perched between my sink (rather full of dirty dishes) and a rather telling photo of James and I- uh, how to put this.. well quite frankly 'mooning' in Dumbledore's office (don't ask how we got in- it is a frightfully long story). Professor Moody, sitting rather too comfortably in my favourite chair, his magic eye apparently scanning the letter Annika had written with obvious disdain. Kingsley looking awkward, and as close to the doorway as possible without being actually outside. They were all so different. And they were, most absurdly, in my apartment.

"Look," I said, trying to be calm, "I know I'm a lout. I'm an incurable womaniser, and I can't resist flouting authority, and, as you may have noticed," my eyes slipped unapologetically the once again empty firewhiskey glass in my hand, "I seem to be on the verge of developing a rather inconvenient drinking problem."

"You're also a bloody distraction in all my classes, and seemingly unable to commit to anything serious," Moody added gruffly. Macgonnagal glared at him, but he ignored her, "also, your attempts at 'romantic' letter writing are dubious."

"Yes, thankyou," I snapped, "I'll keep those in mind. The point is, that I'm a pretty awful human being- royally screwed up in the head. But I'm brave when I need to be, and I'm a good wizard- I think you all know that." Of course, knowing how scathing and ill-disposed towards me the company in the kitchen was, I didn't wait for them to endorse the fact, "but most importantly, I care about my friends more than anything- definitely more than myself. Much more. And I will join your military version of a 'musical appreciation society' if it means protecting them, and I would be your best fighter, if it meant I could keep them safe and happy for even a second." My audience blinked up at me, apparently at a loss. I tilted back my head and downed the last of my firewhiskey, "so that's me, folks." I smiled jauntily at them, "it's your turn now."

There was a moment of blissful silence. It was brief.

"Your speech highlights your immaturity," Macgonnagal sniffed, "but we hardly are in a situation to be choosey."

"No, you don't often find standards in secret society recruitments," I said sarcastically. She shot me a stern look.

"You would be a wonderful member, Black," she said quietly, "if you could only bring yourself to care about the cause as much as about your friends."

I felt vaguely offended, "professor," I said seriously, "I consider them one and the same. Remus is a werewolf. Lily is a muggle born. James is a blood traitor and Peter must be the only person who managed to become worse at protecting themselves after being taught magic. My friends represent your cause." I put my empty glass down and stretched, "and frankly, sitting here and seeing all this happen around me, well, it was chafing a little at my sense of honour."

They looked unconvinced, "I _care_ about this," I said, "don't make me beg- this _is_ important to me. I was on the verge of going vigilante- I hate sitting around, doing nothing while things like this are happening. It isn't right."

And there was more, Estelle. I wanted to prove that I wasn't a Black, once and for all. My family were in the thick of it. My cousin was referred to as you know who's right hand. My brother was practically an acolyte. And I wasn't them. I wanted that distinction made in all certainty. I had chosen my side long ago. Back when I first told the sorting hat that I wanted to be in Gryffindor. I had severed all ties with my old life- what would I do if the side I had chosen rejected me?

They couldn't do that to me- I don't know what would have happened. But thankfully, Macgonnagal's stern look turned into one of mild pride and comradeship.

"Good." She said quietly, "good."

But it wasn't her words that got to me. Moody, stood with a clatter and clapped me on the shoulder, "thank god that tripe is finished with," he grumbled, "of course you were with us. Dumbledore said it from the start- James Potter, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. He said, "if they give the death eaters half as much strife as they gave us during the years of their schooling, we'll be twice as well off as we were without them."

I felt a little bit of blossoming affection for the eccentric old man. As well as a little bit of a blossoming bruise from where Moody had patted me on the shoulder. Macgonngal sounded resigned as she said, "if we'd said no, Potter and Lupin would no doubt have simply told him everything anyway- and he'd have followed them around on missions like a particularly sardonic bodyguard."

Too right I would have.

And then I met Kingsley's eyes. He nodded slowly, "it'll be wonderful to have you, Black," he said earnestly, and then he grinned, "imagine what Lee would say about all this…."

I shot the grin back at him, but of course, it was tinged with bitterness, "Kingsley old chap," I muttered, "my imagination has never been that good."

…

"_God, I hate you!"_

"_I hate you more! And you're crap at cooking!"_

"_Well, you're crap in bed!"_

"_You're the only girl who thinks that- maybe I should go find somebody who is grateful for me- who'd appreciate me."_

"_When you find her, give her my condolences."_

_We glared at each other. And then we were in each other's arms._

"_You are so infuriating- why are you so infuriating?" she whispered in my ear. And I grinned against her neck._

"_Because I don't know how else to be- neither of us do, and that's why we will never, ever work."_

_She laughed, "chaos in motion."_

"_A whirlwind of emotional baggage and hate."_

"_Death, destruction and dysfunction."_

_I smiled, "always and forever."_

_She frowned, a little crinkle appearing between her eyes, as her hair framed her face, tickling my neck, "longer than that, surely?"_

_I pressed my forehead against hers, "naturally, my dear," I whispered, "we are eternal."_

A word from her could ruin my day. A word from me could have her clawing at my face, and threatening death.

By the same token, one smile and I was flying. One kiss from me, and her face would light up.

We never told each other that we loved each other. But, Estelle, I don't think we really needed to. Nor do I think that 'love' communicates what we had…

Excuse me, Estelle. I was just rudely interrupted from my brooding by an irate Remus, who is apparently of the opinion that I am "retracting from the real world, into one made of fantasy, possibility and memory."

Perceptive bastard, isn't he?

He also told me that he saw you.

He saw you the day we dropped Harry off at the train station. That was mere months ago. I was _there_, Estelle- I was there that day.

Words cannot express my anger with Remus at the moment, love. He waltzed into my room, shouted for a while and…

Oh, why not write it?

….

"Sirius?"

"Who were you expecting?" I snapped, pushing this manuscript to the side and turning to face him. He looked oddly calm, "you're not going to trash the room again, are you, Remus?" I asked guardedly, "only it took such a long time to clean, last time."

"When did you last come downstairs for a meal?" he said, ignoring my wit completely.

I blinked, taken aback, "sorry? Dinnertime, I expect. That wasn't so long ago…"

"Sirius, it is 1 o'clock in the afternoon." Remus said through clenched teeth, "dinnertime was yesterday."

Really? Was it? "Indeed?" I said calmly, "I lost track of time- yesterday, then."

"Not yesterday," Remus corrected. I contained my surprise- Remus rarely contradicted me, "Minerva was here _yesterday_- she told me today she hasn't seen you in over a week."

I placed one finger on either side of my forehead, "Remus, if you know the answers to the questions you're asking- why are you asking them?"

His eyes were spitting fire, "well, I wanted to see if _you_ knew," he said silkily, "and you don't, apparently. Over a month."

He'd lost me, "what?"

"Over a month. Since Harry was here, to be precise. That was the last time you actually ate a meal with everybody."

Oops. It seemed I'd been more than a little distracted up here. More than I'd thought, in any case.

"Perhaps we're not your god children," Remus said scathingly, "but could you not show us a little effort, too? Why not put on a little show of normalcy for Molly, who worries incessantly about you? Why not for Minerva, who remembers you as the brave one, never shaken by any event, unwaveringly loyal, ceaselessly indomitable. Why not for Moody, your old professor who is almost ready to give up on the man you were. Why not for _me_, Sirius?"

That sent a little pang through me. Remus missed me. I was all he had left, and I wasn't myself any more. All that I'd lost, he'd lost, and yet he could stand it. I couldn't. And do you know why?

It is because Remus had accepted himself, he was _happy_ with himself, and that respect for himself saved him from the regret and the guilt I was feeling. Remus wasn't the reason that James and Lily were dead, it wasn't Remus' fault that _she_ was gone, and you were practically an orphan.

How sad. Here was I, growing up privileged, good looking, well-liked, intelligent. I'd had an epic romance, and I'd produced a healthy and lovely child. And here was Remus- a werewolf unable to hold down a job, hated by society for a problem that wasn't his fault. And he was more well adjusted than I was.

"Sorry." I said weakly, "if my depression is _annoying_ you. I gave my house to the order- hell, I gave my life to the order- all I ask is a little solitude in my own home."

Remus looked unimpressed, and then, his eyes shot to the loose sheets of paper on the desk. I saw his gaze, and lunged to save my work, but he snatched one out of my hands.

"Remus, that is _mine_." I snapped at him- he ignored me and as his eyes skimmed the page, his mouth twisted into a grimace of pain.

"_I thought everybody would love her, but when Molly opened the door, her expression was one of distaste. By my side, she smiled broadly, as ever feeling oddly elated by the challenge of somebody who disapproved of her._" Remus pursed his lips, and I saw the light of the old pain in his eyes, "what are you doing, Sirius?" he asked quietly, "why, in god's name, are you digging around in all this again?"

"Why not?" I shouted, "isn't it all I have?"

"No, Sirius, actually it _isn't_." he snarled at me- I wondered how close it was to the full moon, "you have us, and you have an Estelle who isn't a figment of your imagination."

"I haven't seen her." I snapped at him, "what do you want me to do?"

Remus' nostrils flared. He was angry. As I watched, he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, scrunching them shut. His other hand was at his side, clenched so tight that the knuckles were white.

"I don't know, Sirius," he muttered, "I don't know. I don't know. I don't _know_ what you should do. Or what is right to do. I don't know what you want, or what I want. All I know is what _she_ would want- and it wouldn't be for you to sit around here moping in your memories of her."

I winced, feeling myself pulled sharply from my dream world. Her ghostly hand on my shoulder, a presence I hadn't even noticed, I was so accustomed to it, withdrew sharply, as if burned. The slight warmth by my side- gone. That phantom presence, that little waft of scent in the air, the murmur on the wind, those tiny little signs that she was there, that this was all a dream, evaporated with Remus' words.

"Shut up, Remus." I said harshly, "leave me to myself."

He looked incredulous, "what? No!" he laughed and ran a hand over his face, "Jesus, Sirius- when did you get so selfish? Think of your daughter before you retreat any further into dreams."

"I _am_!" I barked, "I am, Remus! She's all I ever think of." I stood up. Whenever Remus and I fought, it always involved me standing up- I was taller than him, and more muscular. I knew that all it took, except for that one night a month, to intimidate Remus was to face him down.

But not this time. Because, Estelle, as I stood opposite him, he squared his shoulders and met my gaze. And I realised that we were seeing eye to eye. Had I ever been taller than him? Or had I just felt it? Had my confidence buoyed me up until I felt I was stronger than him, better than him? It mattered little now, because he faced me and I realised that, were we to fight, he would win. I was wasted, emaciated, gaunt. I was an old man.

And Remus? He was in his prime.

As I faced him, another scene flashed before my eyes.

"_But how could you think that, Sirius? You must be joking!"_

"_I know it's you, Remus- you're the spy. It was always you. You're a fool if you lie to me now- I _know_"_

"_Why would I? How could I?"_

"_Because you're jealous! Remus, you've always, always been jealous…"_

I blinked rapidly, and his eyes narrowed. I knew he'd been remembering the same as me- the last time we'd fought seriously.

But he said nothing of that- my one great betrayal of him. How could he, after all? He'd thought I was a spy, I'd thought he was, "you've never said anything about it." I said suddenly, my mind jumping away from our current reality as fast as it ever did these days. It seemed I couldn't get a fix on reality- I couldn't process quite where I was, what I was doing. One moment I would be shouting at somebody, and then I would suddenly be pulled into a memory where we were best friends. Sometimes I could hide that from Molly and Arthur. Not so much Macgonnagal or Moody. But never, ever from Remus. I knew that I had to maintain my grip on reality, had to cling to the 'here and now' with tenacity. Otherwise, he would know. And he would worry.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, but before me, his face flashed into a much younger version of itself. I blink quickly, clearing my head.

"I was remembering- back when I thought you were a spy."

He nodded, "I'm not angry." He said calmly, "Sirius, how could I be angry with you for that? Something so small, and borne of your worry for James and Lily…. I understood."

I smiled wryly, my eyes flicking around. I'd had episodes like this before, but today it was particularly vivid. I couldn't be sure where I was, or _when_ I was. It was disorienting. But exhilarating. Because the other Remus I could see was so young- so fresh faced… he was from a while ago, back when _she_ was still here. And if this hallucination was so vivid, so strong… would I maybe see _her_?

"Of course you did- Peter was probably playing you up against me, too." I said vaguely, looking around the room, and hoping that talking of this wouldn't drag me forwards to after she'd left. All we were discussing had happened afterwards, you know. What if my mind pulled me to then? I didn't want to be there, I wanted to be _there_.

In my hallucinations, Remus was wearing muggle clothes. He looks tired. Maybe it is full moon- he always came over before full moon, and _she_ always fussed over him. She'll definitely be here if it's full moon.

But then, another flash, and of course, it is just Remus. Old Remus. Tired Remus. A Remus ready to break, "he wasn't playing me up against anybody." Old Remus says, and he doesn't sound young, either, "he knew there wasn't a point. I trusted you all implicitly."

"I trusted _you_ implicitly," I insisted, vaguely insulted, "but he tried with me."

Remus laughs, and his face is caught between its old self, and its young self, "Sirius," he says, and as I watch, the grey flickers in and out of his hair. It is bizarre- am I going insane? "Sirius, you didn't trust anybody," I only half listen to him. Because I can hear singing. Somebody is singing in a light, lilting voice- I can't make out the words, but she's coming closer, I can hear her light footsteps on the floorboards. I can see her shadow on the wall. I feel my eyes fill with tears- I can see her! I _will_ see her! After so long.

"So long." I whisper, or perhaps just mouth- do I make a sound? Maybe not.

I can see the beginning of a hand- she is swinging her hands before her as she comes through the corridor- there! Her fingertips- I saw them. Her face will follow, I am sure…. But Remus chooses that moment to finish his sentence.

"You didn't trust anybody," he repeats, "Not after we let _her_ leave."

And then, with a cracking sound, his face stops shimmering and shifting and is abruptly old again. I feel my eyes widen in horror at the age, showing around his eyes, his mouth.

"Sirius?" he asks, worried as he notices my distraction.

I don't hear him. I'm not paying attention anymore. Instead, I'm looking at the little corridor, where she was walking. It is gone. Of course it is- it's from our home, not the house of my childhood. That doesn't bother me.

What bothers me, is that it has taken her with it.


	33. Chapter 33

**okay, so this is the second to last chapter... just thought i'd apologise about the mistakes with the last chapter.. not sure what happened there, but i didn't notice it til last week. anyway, if anybody read that, you may recognise some parts of this chapter- sorry again!**

**as always, R&R would be greatly appreciated... almost finished now**

**thankyou! hope you enjoy**

...

I am drowning in memory.

Flickering around me, the ghosts of my part leer and smirk. I can feel their touch as surely as I can feel Molly's hand on my arm. I can't tell which is a dream any more.

And I truly don't mind. Truly! I am content to live in this half world, to stay between reality and memory forever- or even cross over.

I only fear one thing, Estelle.

How will I write you this text if I lose myself in dreams? I _have _to stay rooted- I must. For you, I will.

Not for anybody else- not ever for dear Harry, whose face now alternates with James' for me. I can barely tell them apart. Perhaps that is why I continue to tell Harry to do things which James would do.

Perhaps.

Perhaps I no longer want to move on, to continue with my life, to look to the future. Perhaps I know that there is no future for me, and I want the past.

….

"Remember that day?" Arthur asked, smiling wistfully, "when _she_ agreed to watch Bill for a few hours?" Arthur and Molly's oldest son was in town- briefly. Apparently, this occasion called for tea and scones in the dining room, accompanied by group-reminiscing. All things I despise.

And, as Molly had made clear when she'd dragged me down the stairs, attendance was mandatory.

I shook my head, "no." I said tersely- willing him to stop. He didn't get the message. I wanted to leave. I wanted to be up in Reg's room. I wanted to be _anywhere_ but here, watching them talk about things which only stayed bearable if I thought on them alone.

"Oh, what a pity- you don't remember? Really?"

"I do." Molly sniffed, "he came home swearing like a sailor -in four different languages."

"I did not," Bill called from the kitchen, sent to fetch more scones, "God, you exaggerate."

Molly sat up straight, playfully on the defensive, "Oh? _Russian_! French! Portuguese! That's four, Bill."

"That's _three_, mum," Bill said, smiling lightly as he walked into the lounge. He looked very much like a young Arthur. I quite like him, really. He is the sort of man I'd like you to be with, Estelle. Good looking, kind and calm, but with a sort of rebellious air, as well. Not too much of a push over. Still, with that pretty little veela girl of his, you have your work cut out for you. But surely you can manage, if you have _any_ smidgen of your mother's genes.

"_Four_! Don't forget English!" Molly said triumphantly.

Bill shook his head in defeat. "Alright, alright. I'll admit it." he smiled again, "you win, of course." He plopped a plate of scones down on the table, and sank into a nearby chair. He seemed so unaffected by this topic- something so dear to my heart- that I felt myself becoming angered. How dare he not care? How dare he not be saddened by the mention of _her_?

My mouth tightened into a hard line, "she loved to spend her time with you," I managed to force out, "it's a pity you don't remember her."

I looked away from them, sad that somebody who'd been such a large part of _her_ life could be so far from her now.

"Who said I didn't remember her?" Bill asked, and I could hear him smiling, "how could I forget? I can still see her smile…"

"You couldn't-" I aid, quickly, too quickly. It slipped out, of its own accord, "how could you, you were a child!"

Bill's grin was lazy. As I watched, he ran a hand through his hair and shrugged his shoulders. He looked like me- like how I'd imagine a son I'd have with Molly to look. I shot her a glance, and she shrugged her shoulders lightly. Well, we were related- distantly.

It seemed that some of the Black charm was echoed in the Weasley genes.

"I was a child," he agreed now, that grin still on his face- god, I see now how I must have _irritated_ people," I was a child- but _she_ was a goddess."

"That she was."

I looked quickly over my shoulder- I hadn't even heard Remus come in. But there he was, leaning against the door jab, watching us.

He met my eyes, "what are you doing?" he asked tiredly.

I shrugged, "talking."

He looked away, "Severus is here," he said to Molly, "and he'll be staying for dinner, if you don't mind."

Something about that seemed wrong to me, "what if _I_ mind?" I asked, "it is, after all, my house."

Molly snorted, "who cleans it?" she muttered, striding off to the kitchen, "who scrubs its bloody floors!" But she was pleased, I know. Because the more people here, the more it would feel like a party, and the less it would feel like a war council.

Remus smiled sadly at her indignant departure, "you don't really mind, do you, Sirius?" he asked, without looking at me, "surely you're more mature than that."

I gave a quick bark of a laugh, "oh, I wouldn't bet on it."

"Neither would I." was his terse reply. And then he turned to Bill, "do you remember when you met her?"

He laughed, obviously glad that the tense moment between Remus and I seemed over, "not really," he said, "but I've been told about it."

Remus nodded, "I didn't even know she was back," he said in a hushed voice, "I wasn't told. I only knew when she glided in that door…."

"Oh, stop sulking." I snapped without thinking, suddenly furious, "you're always moping over her- you always were! Stop it!"

Remus' eyes darted back to me, "and you aren't?"

"Difference was that she loved me." I said cruelly. And, oh, Estelle, I know it was cruel. I don't know why I said it. Perhaps it was the comments about the weather (how horrid to hear Bill and Arthur discuss the sun, the clouds, the unseasonably cool breeze). Perhaps it was the mention of Snape. Perhaps it was that Bill, too, remembered her. Missed her.

Perhaps I am simply a horrible person, and there's little more to be said about it.

"I'm sorry, Remus." I said quickly, "you know she loved you, too."

He didn't look overly placated, "she loved you once, true enough." He hissed at me, "but would she love you now?" I started in shock, "you've let this situation beat you, Sirius. You would never have done that before. You would have fought, and kept your spirits high- and everybody else's, too. But now….." his eyes swept over me, "you've lost your spark. And that spark? That was what made her love you."

I shook my head, "oh, Remus. You never did understand her," I said, chuckling tiredly, "she loved me for _everything_. All I was, she loved. And I, her. We weren't two people who were _attracted_ to each other. We weren't two people 'in love'. We _were_ love. We were made of the same stuff. We were like magnets. We didn't have much of a choice- we were always just dragged together." He didn't move, so I continued, "if she saw me now," my voice caught, "god forbid, she would be ashamed. She would be disgusted. But she would love me still, as long as I was still me, in whatever form."

"How lovely for you." A voice softly leered from the corner, "how sad that your daughter is not of the same opinion."

I felt my shoulders sink, "Snivellus." I said tiredly, "I am so happy you could join us."

He inclined his head, "T," he said simply.

I blinked, "I am sorry?"

"A 'T'. That's your esteemed daughter's grade for her last potions essay. 'T'."

(Estelle, I know that we'll probably never discuss this- but if you do read on, please consider not only the importance of your studies, but that in failing, you make Snape happy. And we simply cannot have that, now, can we?)

"Ah, well." I snapped, "we all have our weaknesses. It was just your luck that they don't grade people on charm and social skills."

He didn't seem perturbed, "she _did_ do very well in her Dark Arts…. Oh, I'm sorry. Did I say 'dark arts'?" his eyes glinted, "I'm sure I meant to say 'Defence _Against_ the Dark Arts. The other must have just…. Slipped out."

I don't care, Estelle. I have decided to trust you. I have decided that I can. How could anyone with your mother's blood be anything other than strictly principled, and unable to discriminate against anyone? I trust you.

And as my eyes darted back across the room, past an uncomfortable Arthur and a _more_ uncomfortable Bill, and met Remus', I realised something.

He trusts you, too.

…..

"Hell, no," James scoffed, "I'm partnering Lilly. You think I'd let her go out alone?"

"With a highly qualified witch or wizard for protection?" I corrected. Never before had their relationship inconvenienced me more. Dumbledore had introduced a new policy in the order- we weren't to go out alone, not after the recent ambushes and subsequent deaths of five of our members. We were to have specific partners to accompany us on all order business.

And I had expected James. And I had been wrong.

He shrugged, "without _me_. I'm partnering Lilly."

"But we work well together," I whinged, "like- that transfiguration assignment!"

His brow crinkled as he thought. "Is that the only one we were allowed to study for together?" He asked, "before the teachers put a ban on us working as a pair?

I smiled, remembering

"_Ha! Look at it go! Fly, my darling, fly!" James cackled as he sent yet another paper plane zipping about, drawing the disapproving eye of the librarian._

_Without looking up from my books, I snatched the plane out of thin air, crumpling it decisively, "stop it, Potter. We're failing this damn subject. You promised not to distract me."_

"_You promised not to be boring," James countered reasonably. _

_I had at that, "well, there must be a solution. How can I work in a manner which would be interesting for you, and yet wouldn't distract me?" I asked with a grin._

_James might even have though of an answer, had I not already thrown a large book at his head, "shut up!" I cried, pre-empting him._

_He dodged, and threw another book back at me, and I added a hex to it which made it burst into flames._

_Followed by most of the library._

We were not the most studious of students.

"I think that assignment went well," I said seriously, "didn't we do well? I remember Flitwick saying we did well."

James rolled his eyes, "he said it was 'well' that the whole school didn't burn down, and 'well' that, even though we'd learnt the _feindfyre_ spell illegally, we didn't have the wand movement down so perfectly as to make it impossible to extinguish."

"We made it difficult, though." I said, musingly.

"Not the point." James said, "I'm not budging- I'm partnering Lily. That's that."

This was infuriating, "so then- who do I get?"

"They'll assign you somebody, Padfoot."

"Yeah," I agreed, pouring myself another glass of firewhiskey from my liquor cabinet. James frowned, "yeah, they will. And I can't ever seem to get along properly with anybody _male_…"

"Because they all have sisters and girlfriends whose pants you've been in." James pointed out. Trying to subtley edge the firewhiskey bottle away from me.

Feeling magnanimous, I ignored him. And his comment. "because they're all so focussed on events of the past. And Dumbledore won't ever assign me anybody _fun_ at all. And you know I don't work well when I'm not having fun." To emphasize this, I pulled the bottle back towards me.

"Do you ever work well?" James asked sceptically. I made an offended face, and he relented, "oh, don't look at me like that!"

"I'll look at you however I want, while I can," I told him firmly, "after all, I might be dead tomorrow, because _somebody_ wouldn't be my partner."

James frowned a little, "don't joke." He said softly, his face a little pale, his eyes a little tired. The war had already changed his looks- he was still a good looking man, I'll have you know, but the emotional strain of it all hit James hard. He really was very sensitive, deep down. He wore all of his pain and confusion on his face.

'Sorry, James." I said, giving him a rather reluctant pat on the back. We weren't big fans of PDAs. Our friendship was masculine. Our friendship was macho.

He senses my discomfort and clears his throat awkwardly. Then he smiles at me, "it's funny, isn't it?" he asks in a hushed voice, "all those years of just mucking about- and now here we are, ready to actually _do_ something."

I laughed lightly, "oh, James." I said quietly, taking a swig of my firewhiskey, "we'll never truly be ready."

….

"I'm sorry, Remus." I called.

He paused at the doorway, hat in hand, eyes searching the darkness for me. He frowned when he finally made me out, "oh. What are you doing there?" he asked.

I was sitting on the staircase, like I had as a child. When mother had had dinner parties I was considered too much of a baby to attend, I would wait on the staircase, wreathed in shadows, and watch the guests leave. I listened to their conversation through the thin walls. I observed.

Why I was repeated that behaviour now, I am not sure. I'd felt so detached at dinner- so segregated from their worlds. I hadn't felt comfortable. I'd left.

But I'd only gotten as far as the stairs. Just like when I was a child.

"I'm not really sure," I said, answering Remus' question finally, "I'm apologising to you, I suppose."

He shrugged, "I know you didn't mean it." he said simply.

"I feel caged, here." I said absently, "like a bird in a cage. And I can't get out."

He sighed, "soon, Sirius. Soon you'll be out. Soon you'll be proved innocent. Soon you'll meet your daughter."

I shook my head, "well, maybe, I suppose."

He looked a little awkward, still holding his hat in his hand, "I'm sure you will." He said brightly.

It was simpler to just agree.

"Get out of here, Moony." I said softly, "it's past your bedtime."

The corners of his mouth flipped up into a little smile, "don't you stay up too late now, Padfoot," he said, echoing conversations of old, "you know how Macgonnagal feels about you sleeping through class."

The reply, so well worn, came quickly to my lips, "bitter that she's not sleeping next to me."

The silence was palpable. Now was the part when James would usually chirp up his own witty addition. Always the same. A tradition as old as we were.

We both stood there, sorry we'd begun it. It felt unfinished without James' lines. Last time we'd run through this little routine, it had been a different scene.

"_You'll really be gone." Remus said, eyes full, "gone…"_

"_Just for now." James said fiercely, and little Harry murmured sleepily in Lily's arms, _

"_Sshhh," she said to him, jigging him a little, she sounded tearful, "don't fuss so much."_

"_I think she's talking to you girls." I said to Remus and James, but I could feel my hands shaking. Lily looked quickly up at me and smiled. She was crying._

"_You'll be gone." Peter said quickly, echoing Remus._

"_just for a little while."_

"_We've never been apart." Remus said again, for the hundredth time, "not for this whole war, James."_

"_Stop being such a girl," I snapped, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. With a bitter smile, I said, "maybe you're tired. Get out of here, Moony. It's past your bedtime."_

_His smile was resigned, "don't you stay up too late now, Padfoot. You know how Macgonnagal feels about you sleeping through class."_

"_Bitter that she's not sleeping next to me."_

_James laughed, but his voice sounded thick as he grinned and said, "bitter that you're sleeping and not stone cold dead."_

"_Prongs has the way of it." Remus said obediently._

"_Prongs _always_ has the way of it." I chimed._

"_Oh, what do you know," James said, laughing for the finish, "you're all just a bunch of Marauders."_

_Lily smiled, "I haven't heard _that_ before," she drawled sarcastically._

"Prongs has the way of it." Remus said sadly.

I nodded, burying my head in my hands, "Prongs _always_ has the way of it."

"What would you know?" a voice chimed in awkwardly from the doorway. We both looked up to see Arthur standing there, smiling sadly, "you're all just a bunch of marauders."

…..

"Alright, Albus," I called striding through headquarters, dreading this first meeting of my assigned partner, cursing James for stubbornly insisting on Lily, "which old geezer have you paired me up with….." my voice died out as my eyes caught on the figure, who turned to face me as I entered the room.

"Actually, when he said somebody whose 'virtue you couldn't compromise,' he didn't mean somebody respectable so much as somebody with no virtue left." She smiled, and the corners of her mouth tilted upwards. But it didn't meet her eyes- she was unsure.

But oh so beautiful. Can I describe her? I should try, I suppose. Muggle clothes, as per usual- a plain dress in navy blue, with long sleeves, which fell to mid thigh. Under that- tights. And her hair was longer than I remembered, falling over her shoulder in a messy ponytail on the side. Her eyes were vivid, her lips were impossible to look at without wanting to touch- her cheeks were pink, her skin was flawless.

"Hello, _chien_," she said quietly, "I'm back."

I stared at her a little longer, and she let me, clasping her hands behind her back and meeting my stare.

"You can't be," I told her clearly, "you just- _can't_. You shouldn't-"

She shrugged one shoulder, "and since when have I subscribed to 'can't' or 'shouldn't'?"

"Don't be coy," is snapped, running a hand through my hair- frustrated, "so we're partners?"

"I agreed to it." she said plainly, "I wanted to see you."

"Now?" I laughed, "really? You joined a resistance just so you could see an old boyfriend? Really?" I laughed again, and she frowned, rolling her eyes.

"Don't be a fool," she snapped, "I returned to England to join the Order- and then I heard you were in it. I must confess, I was glad. It gave me a means to approach you, without looking like I was crawling back."

"You _are_ crawling back," I told her harshly, "with your tail between your legs. That is all this is."

She frowned, "this is a chance," she told me calmly, "for us to try again."

"What makes you think I want to try again?" I snapped.

She raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quirking up, "oh, come now, Sirius. It's _us_- of course you want to try again. Of course _we_ want to try again."

I kept my face carefully blank and pushed past her, dumping myself into the nearest lounge chair. She turned around to face me, one eyebrow still raised.

I poured myself a glass of firewhiskey, hoping that my hands weren't shaking- they felt like they were shaking, and she was always so astute. She'd see it in a second, "how did you get out this time?" I asked, "cause another scandal? Get engaged to a muggle?"

Her shrug was heartbreakingly pretty. How had I managed a year without looking at her? "Nothing so flashy. I turned 17. He could not keep me by force or by law."

"You turned 17months ago." I pointed out, "you're only here now?" Now it was her turn to keep her face carefully blank. I knew I wouldn't get an answer, and shrugged, "fine."

"When did you start drinking so much?" she asked, reasonably, considering I was pouring myself more firewhiskey. By 'more', I am sorry to have to admit that I mean my third glass since we'd begun our conversation.

With a bitter smile, I _shrugged_ back at her.

She pursed her lips, "fine." And then she ran a hand through her hair, "this isn't going well," she said, obviously wrestling to stay calm, "because apparently you're still just as much of a baby as I remember you being." I made to object but she shook her head sharply, "shut up. Let me talk. We still have to work together, whether you want to or not. At least tonight. Okay?"

"Looks like it has to be," I said nonchalantly, pulling a coat on, "where are we assigned?"

She smiled primly, "trés bien," she said, placing her hands on her knees, "we're supposed to patrol Surrey tonight. There has been a suggestion that there will be an attack on one of the wizarding families in residence there."

"Fine." I said, "nice and easy. And doesn't involve much talking."

"I don't think I could handle having to talk to you, anyway," she hissed, "I've never had the patience for baby talk."

"Strange, considering that your minimal grasp of the English language means you _always_ talk like a baby," I snapped back, "or perhaps that's just your immaturity shining through."

She raised an eyebrow, "I suppose you'd be the first to recognise immaturity. But I know that isn't the case. Since James grew up, you've probably been desperate for another imbecilic friend to match yourself- too desperate to be such a bastard to me if I was one."

"I'm being a bastard?" I laughed, running a hand through my hair. Her eyes followed the movement, ever watchful, like a cat, "I'm a bastard? Merlin's beard, I haven't heard from you in over a year, and you come back without so much as a 'sorry' and call _me_ a bastard? After I broke about 50wizarding and international laws to prostrate myself at your feet? After I humiliated myself to try and get you back.."

"To get me back?" she asked, voice steely but full of contemptuous amusement.

I could have kicked myself, "back in England. Yeah."

She smiled disdainfully. A horrible, beautiful, cruel, lovely smile, which said so clearly 'you came for _me_. You wanted _me_. You still do'. And so of course, regardless of whether she'd spoken or not, I had to reply.

"Bloody hell, Lee, you're egotistical!" I spluttered, "you think you can just walk in here- after, what? 14months without a word and just….."

She cleared the space between us in less than a second, and in another second, her lips were on mine- and despite myself, it felt as though they'd never left.

There was a taut moment, both of us frozen by her action- caught in place, wondering how we should act, what it meant.

I spoke first, "what the hell was that?"

Her smile remained a little contemptuous, but it softened, "that was the first time you called me by name today." She said, "and _that_," she gestured meaningfully between us, indicating the kiss, "is what you should have done when you came to my father's house a year ago. It's what I should have done when I saw you duelling Lestrange. What you should have done the first time you asked me to tell James how Lily felt about him. What I should have done that day when we realised we'd be alone at the castle all holidays. It's what you should have done when you told everybody I'd thrown myself at you. What I should have done after you saved me from Remus that night. What you should have done that night at the lake, and what I should have done," her eyes gleamed brightly, and she laughed, "what I should have done one hundred times over when you first got with Annika."

I blinked, shell shocked, and she smiled, all disdain gone, and smoothed some hair behind my ear, "you're a mess, by the way," she said as a side note.

"Is that part of your speech?" I asked, smiling wryly even as my voice faltered.

She frowned, shaking her head as though annoyed at herself for getting distracted, "sorry. Well, no, because it's your fault. I mean, you should have taken better care of yourself- your hair is almost as long as mine, _chien_, and that's…"

"Lee. Sidetracked." I said quickly.

She rolled her eyes, and I saw that she was frustrated that I'd cut her off, but she but it back, "_anyway_," she said dramatically, "I haven't finished."

I gave a barking laugh, "yeah, I figured, seeing as how you haven't actually made a point yet."

She glared at me, "you are _such_ an idiot." She said, and then sighed, "but still, I've known I liked you from the second I saw you, and you've felt the same about me."

I wondered whether I should question that, but knew I would be killed if I so much as blinked out of turn. I felt oddly light-headed, and detached from the situation. I was covered in fluff- floating on a cloud. And there she was, in front of me, and I still wasn't sure what she was doing there.

"We never wanted to admit it, though." She said, biting her lip, "because we are both stupid. _Very_ stupid. But," she made a pained face, as though what she was trying to say was very difficult, "_but_, we've always cared-_strongly-_ about each other, though we've avoided it. And, Sirius, I really think that we should stop doing that now. Don't you?"

"Stop doing what?"

"Don't you listen?" she snapped, "stop avoiding the fact that we care about each other! I know I care about you…"

I raised an eyebrow, "oh, come off it." I laughed, "I mean, you were pretty cool in highschool and all, but Lee, we're no Romeo and Juliet. Who says I care about you? I mean, Annika and I….."

Lee's eyebrows darted together in surprise, and her nostrils flared, "my mistake." She said primly, and turned on her heel.

Quickly, I grabbed her arm, "shit, Lee!" I gasped, trying not to laugh, "Lee- wait- Lee, I was _joking_- Lee!"

She stopped, frozen, and turned back to face me, "you are _such_ an idiot." But she was smiling, and I knew I hadn't ruined things completely, "as if I come all this way, and pour my heart out to you, and you…."

I kissed her. Deeply.

I'll try not to gross you out, Estelle, with details.

Instead I shall show remarkable restraint and skip ahead to when we pulled up for air, flushed and smiling.

"Lee, I haven't thought about anyone else since you left," I said honestly, "since I met you, if we're going to be completely open. You are such a… well, you're a damn nuisance, really. I was doing just fine before you came along and managed to throw everything out of line. But- honestly, I can't imagine living without you. These past few months? This practical _eternity_ since the last time I saw you has killed me, Lee." She smiled wryly, and I laughed, "you're a sarcastic, wrathful, terrifying, brilliant, clever, condescending, beautiful, manipulative, radiant, charismatic pain in the arse and I think you make my life better for being there."

She laughed softly, resting her forehead against mine, "you really can't say it, can you?" she asked quietly, a mischievous gleam in her eyes, "you can't bring yourself to say it."

"Say what?" I frowned, "were you not listening? I just said about _everything_!"

"_About_ everything is right," she grinned, "you're such a baby. You still can't say how you feel about me."

I froze, caught in the headlights, "umnn…."

She laughed again, and I felt it swoop through my stomach. She rested a finger on my lips and shook her head, "eloquence is not your strong point," she said bitingly, but her smile remained, "it's okay. I _know_ how you feel." She shrugged casually, "mon cher, I feel _exactly_ the same way. I think I always will."

Despite myself, I felt a glow rise through me. Those words, the ones she wasn't going to say until I did, rested unspoken between us, but so obvious that they could have been written on the air, "always, Lee?"

She was so beautiful as she smiled, with not a trace of sarcasm in her voice, and no disdain on her face. Just pure, true…. Well, that word that we won't say.

"Always," she confirmed, "always and forever."


	34. Chapter 34

And so, Estelle, we reach the end.

You know the rest- to some degree. You know the vague details, good and bad, and you are clever, and your mother's daughter. So you know the passion and the feelings which traced a pattern through our lives together.

It didn't take long. We were living together from that night, I think. When I came back to the apartment, her things were already there.

She said that she knew she hadn't needed to ask. She knew that her little declaration upon our meeting was a formality.

She'd been planning to simply move straight in without officially notifying me of her return, but she'd thought that would seem a little forward.

Honestly, I don't think I'd have minded.

I won't lie- we were no blissful couple. We did not finish each others sentences- we fought constantly. We did not call each other 'darling'- we called each other all the rude words under the sun. We did not gaze lovingly at each other, but glared with an intensity which made those around us quiver with fear. But we loved each other- no, more that that, we were each other. Each of us completed the other, and if we weren't always lovey-dovey, we were always whole, and we suffered from being apart. I would not change a single moment we spent together, because even the fights- especially those epic, wild fights- are precious to me. That was my life with her- she was my life, is my life. And i loved every minute of it.

Loose ends- are there any? No doubt. I have not written a very linear narrative.

Annika, of course. You'll want to know about her?

There is little to say, other than that I treated her abominably. I forgot her completely, I must confess. My letters to her simply ceased, along with hers to me, and I only remembered that there was another woman in the world people might consider to be 'with' me when the school year finished, and she was suddenly a part of the Order.

Surprisingly, she held no hard feelings. I think she'd realised when the letters stopped, and had gotten over it soon enough. When she saw _her_ holding my hand at her very first meeting with the Order, she merely rolled her eyes and said, "of _course_."

I won't pretend we remained good friends, but we were amicable. But Annika and _her_? Not so much. Their mutual pride made it difficult for them to be in the same room, let alone _bond_.

But no matter. I don't know what else happened to Annika- I shall have to ask Remus. He knows all of these kinds of things.

But I won't make a point of telling you. Honestly, I do prefer to end it here, rather than to recount all the frightening ups and downs of our life together.

I'll end it with hope for the future.

And with unspoken love.

And a much desired embrace.

So ends the tale of the much debated, dubiously regarded Sirius Black. So ends his story, as he sees it.

But a part of me still thinks that perhaps, just perhaps, I should have told you of my life in a different manner.

Perhaps I should have told you mundane things; my favourite colour (dark blue), my favourite Bertie Bott's Every Flavour bean (roasted pork with mint, surprisingly), and whether or not I was a morning person (most definitely _not_) But I felt, mysterious Estelle, and _still_ feel, that you would then not know _me,_ but only about me.

I don't want to fall into the category of history projects. Born, Died, achievements. I want you to see what I was like. I _need_ you to see what I was like.

I already know what you are like. You are like her. The one who is lying on my bed, smiling at the ceiling, telling me that I have little taste in colour schemes, that red and gold curtains are extremely passé.

Oh, god. I wish I could give this to you myself. I wish I could walk up to you on the street, on Platform 9¾, where I undoubtedly _must_have seen you just a year ago, almost, when I accompanied Harry to Hogwarts- how could I not have, but I didn't. I would have known you- we must have missed each other by a breath. To think, had things gone just a little differently, I would not only have _not_ missed you by a breath, but have taken you there myself, warning you all the while to 'watch out for that Jordan boy- they're a handsy bunch'. And yet, the most I can hope for is to thrust this manuscript into your hands and tell you that I'm sorry. But I know I cannot do that, cannot walk up to you and look in your eyes. I would not be brave enough to hand over my soul to you, written in purple ink on the back of several of Reg's old potions essays.

I hope only to see you again, although I can imagine you already.

I think you have your mother's hair, a mop of curls, riotous, falling wildly around your face, but soft to touch. You have a bow shaped mouth (your top lip may be a little on the thin side, but it is still perfect) and white teeth, with slightly pointed canines. Your nose turns up at the tip- just a little- and you have a heart shaped face, with one dimple, on your left cheek.

Boys love you, but you don't have the time for them. You will flirt with those you like, be kind to those who are sweet, and a bitch to those who are not. But though you'd never admit it, you sort of like the arrogant boys better. You like to put them in their place, to prove that you can win over them any day.

And when they make advances that are unwelcome, they always regret it, because you turn around and fix them with a long, hard stare. Looking out at them from under huge eyes, tilted up at the corners with long smoky lashes. Eyes as grey as mine. And you look at them for a moment, then tilt your chin slightly and raise an eyebrow just a little. And they quail, because you, my mysterious Estelle, fix them with the Black look, a look of such disdain that they feel like a pile of stinking refuse. This Black look is the only hint of your infamous ancestry, and when it graces your face, I appear somewhere in your eyes, and in the line of our jaw, marking my territory and announcing to the world 'hello. I am here. I made this.'

I think it is right to end it here, on such a pleasant note. I can feel _her_ in my arms even as I write these words. Or rather, I can feel her hand on my shoulder, I can see her hair brushing along the paper as she leans over to see what I've written.

I imagine she's smiling condescendingly.

"Chien- _surely_ not? So dull a retelling! Where is the passion? Where is the fire? You English have a poor was with words. That Shakespeare fellow- is he the best you can do?"

But she approves of my words- I can see it in her eyes. My first impulse is to kiss her cheek. But I'll have to move her hair first. It's dragging in the ink- smudging the words.

It is. In my mind, in another universe. In a happier version of reality, it really is.

In a happier reality, she accepts my kiss on the cheek without comment, and rests on hand on my head, toying with my hair as she reads my words to you.

"Nicely, chien," she whispers in my ear, "finish it nicely for my little star."

You know, Estelle, when I first heard your name, I thought it was a slur.

She named you a star- a patch of brightness which can shine like a beacon, despite the Black around it.

I thought she mean you to spite me. I thought she was telling me that you would conquer the Black within you, and be only light.

But I think now that this was not what she meant.

She named you for a star, Estelle. Something that glows in the night. Something which isn't afraid to differentiate itself from its surroundings- from its background, one might say.

She named you for a star, Estelle, because she knew that, no matter how much we suffered, you would stand out- you would break from our destruction and shine for all the world to see.

She named you for a star, Estelle, because stars are symbols of hope. Stars are associated with beauty, and the future, and better places. Stars mean the possibility of the divine.

And she named you for a star, Estelle, because, in her perverse little mind, she was marking you as a Black. For what black isn't named for a star? Or a constellation?

She was telling me that you were mine. No matter what happened. No matter how it ended, you were mine. You always would be, no matter what anybody said or did. It's in your Black look. It's in your name.

It's in your eyes.

And if I can say your name, Estelle, then surely I can say her name.

After so many years, I can speak her name again- my darling Dahlquist. My beautiful _Aureilee_.

It means light, you know. You're my little star, Estelle- born of darkness and light, and forever suspended between the two. You shine like your mother. You shine like my Lee- I _know_ it.

I hate to leave you, mysterious somebody, but I have little choice. From the racket downstairs, it seems that Snape has paid me an unexpected visit. And he's in some sort of frenzy about _something_. Usually I'd keep him waiting, naturally, but he's shouting something incoherent about Harry- and that Umbridge cow. And- surely not- he seems to be asking if I'm here.

Where else I would be is a mystery to me.

It sounds urgent, Estelle, and I am the only one here.

But I can make him wait just a little while. I am, after all, Sirius Black.

And really, what trouble Harry could possibly have gotten into now is beyond me. Molly told me he was doing his History OWL today, and Binns is not the sort to let anybody cause trouble on his watch. It must be a mistake. Although, Harry _is_ my godson, and James' son. He could no doubt make trouble anywhere. And Snivellus _does_ sound rather insistent…

Ah, well. Snape can come up here and meet me. After what happened this morning when I left Kreacher alone with Buckbeak, I think it best I keep an eye on my poor, ailing hippogriff.

Snape's thundering up here now.

Farewell, mysterious somebody.

I hope to meet you. Someday.

Sirius Black

**And there it is- finally finished! I hope it ended to your satisfaction, and thankyou to all those who've read it.**

**On that note- I have to admit that i feel a little sorry for Estelle, whose voice has never been heard. But I'm torn- is it better that way, that we don't know her, just like he didn't know her?**

**I have an idea already forming for a sequel of sorts, something from Estelle's point of view, following the events from the books- opinions? **

**Do you want to know what happens to Estelle? Do you want to meet her?**

**Let me know- and once more, thank you so much for all of your kind words and support!**

**xxx**


	35. Author's Note Sequel

Hello, everybody..

This is my official notice that I have begun the sequel/ companion piece to "The Life and Times of Sirius Black"

It is again in journal form- this time the journal of Estelle Dahlquist, beginning in her fourth year (so Harry's fifth). This means that she is recounting the events of the year in which Sirius dies from _her_ point of view.

It is called- don't freak out- "Confessions of a Teenage Deatheater". The title will become clearer later on, and her diary will go on until the end of the second wizarding war.

If you do choose to read it, hopefully you aren't disappointed. I'll try and combine Sirius and Lee's characters as much as I can, but Estelle is her own person, and she _is_ a little messed up.

Throughout the story, you'll also get an idea of what happened to Lee.

And although Estelle is in Slytherin, Harry will feature fairly regularly. That's the reason I had Sirius suspecting that Harry had read his journal and _knew_ who Estelle was.

That's it. Hope you enjoyed my story!

xxx


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